


distraction: you

by twosetmeridian



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Character Development, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M, Orchestra, Romance, The Author Tries To Be Funny, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Violins, because drama stimulates plot okay, hopefully she succeeds(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 31,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21603028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twosetmeridian/pseuds/twosetmeridian
Summary: distractions are not high on eddy chen's priorities. when brett yang steps into his life, however, he might need to revise that mindset.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 117
Kudos: 280





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> **author's note ;**
> 
> hello, hello! this was my first longfic offering of love to the twoset and breddy fandom, crossposting from wattpad for some of my readers to enjoy over here <3 hope you all enjoy reading it as i did writing it!
> 
> i'm not well-versed in the classical musician life, and i do try my best to research as much as i can, but there may be some instances in the fic that would be considered inaccurate should they happen in real life. for that, i apologize, and i hope that it doesn't get in the way of your enjoyment of the fic :-D critiques and feedback are highly encouraged; i'd be very thankful for them! <3 
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction; nothing written here is real. obviously brett and eddy are their own persons and therefore not mine (no matter how much i wish it).
> 
> **[ crossposted from wattpad; began 8/11; finished 11/29 ]**

the day is hot, the sun is burning, and eddy doesn't have time for distractions.

see here—he's a violinist. distractions, and especially those that keep him from practicing and living and breathing his craft, are ultimately worthless. unnecessary. he doesn't have time for them at all if he wants to become a soloist, and by god, he _will_ become one. just needs some patience and hard work, is all.

perhaps it's providence or fate, or maybe just plain old coincidence, but as it turns out, things are about to take a sharp turn—

but eddy doesn't know that.

• • •

there is a man. that in itself isn't strange, but the fact that he is sprawled over the edge of a bus stop bench _is_. he's cradling his forehead, glasses precariously perched on the bridge of his nose, and his jeans are slowly collecting dust particles from the dust clouds the cars are stirring up along the road.

eddy tells himself it's only because he's a good person and he can't stand seeing anyone in distress that he stops walking, but then that would be a lie, in hindsight.

"oh, hey, are you okay?" the question comes tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop it. the man doesn't respond, still hunched over on the ground, and before eddy knows what's happening, his eyes begin trailing the length of the other's spine, the wide set of his shoulders, the—

god, what the hell was _that_? he snaps himself back to the present, quietly taking a step forward in the stranger's direction. at the sound of eddy's foot scuffing against the sidewalk, the man looks up, mumbles an _i'm fine_ that is definitely not convincing.

if eddy were a weaker man, he would've thought the kitten-weak statement to be, well, _cute_. but he isn't weak, no siree, no thoughts like that here.

"right, okay," eddy mutters under his breath. it's not really within his right to demand the truth from the man, and again, _distractions are not_ _necessary_ , maybe he should just go and—

the man shifts, his leg smacking against the violin case half-hidden under the bench, and eddy is startled. he hadn't noticed the shiny black container until now, so focused as he was on the man's distress.

so does that mean he is a violinist too?

_well, obviously_ , eddy thinks, mentally slapping himself in the forehead. he is so off his game today, it's not even funny. must be the heat wave or something.

"you look pale—hmmh, is it alright if i took care of you for a little while?" as soon as the words take flight into the air, eddy realizes just how _strange_ that sounds, and he quickly backtracks. "just until you feel better."

a small hum is the stranger's response. eddy tilts his head and continues, "is that a yes?"

the man finally nods, and the anxious knot in eddy's chest loosens. "oh thank god," he can't help but declare, because the man looks seconds away from passing out, and if he actually does, it'll be on eddy's head.

in one smooth motion, and without really thinking about it, eddy has both hands under the man's arms, dragging him up to properly sit on the bench. the stranger looks equal parts confused and amused at the action, and yes, okay, that was a bit sudden. eddy has the urge to blush out of nowhere, but he fights it off.

"sorry, uh," he fumbles, settles for a nervous laugh, "you looked like you needed the support." _this is the part where you introduce yourself, mate._ "my name's eddy, what's yours?"

the man huffs a breath, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a mild smile that should in no way send shivers down eddy's spine, but it does. something is wrong with him, and it probably isn't because of the heat wave.

"brett. brett yang."


	2. chapter two

the day is hot, the sun is shining, and brett's world has just fallen down around him like crumbling sandcastles.

okay, that's a bit overdramatic, but he can't help it. he has always been a rather _sensitive_ soul, perhaps, if that is indeed the right word for it. he feels all too deeply, takes everything to heart, and once he had heard the news of being shot down yet again for another audition for concertmaster—or _any_ position, really, at this point; he is that desperate—it had been all too easy to stumble down onto the bus stop bench and force himself not to pass out.

he hadn't expected anyone to come up and talk to him, much less offer to stick around until he looks a little less green around the gills. he hadn't expected eddy chen.

• • •

five minutes and a few unsteady steps to a vending machine later, brett's got a bottle of water thrust into his hand by the tall stranger who, for god knows what reason, has taken an interest in his plight. it's not that he's ungrateful or anything, it's just—not something he's experienced recently.

he isn't really used to kindness, not from outside the boundaries of his own family, and even within that, it's complicated.

eddy keeps his gaze trained on him as he drinks water, most likely checking to see if brett's going to faint any time soon, and it is here that brett realizes just how devastating those dark eyes can be when their full focus is on you. it is safe to say that this is the most nerve-wracking drink of water in his life, and with the way his throat grows dry in anxiety, the bottle is empty after just a few gulps.

fastest finished drink ever. the guinness world records should call him up about that.

"well, brett yang," the other man drawls his name out all slow and measured, as if testing the shape of it on his lips, and okay, no, that was _definitely_ a weird train of thought.

 _shut up, brain_ , brett admonishes his wayward mind, squeezing his eyes shut as he steadies his breathing, puffs of air all timed to the 4/4 rhythm like his mother had trained him to do. it keeps him calm, yes, but at the expense of missing a few words eddy's aimed in his direction.

". . . a violinist?"

 _what?_ "sorry?" brett squints up at him—so tall, what the hell even are his genes—and stares wordlessly for a few moments before his brain comes back online. "ah, yeah. yeah, i am." he hadn't planned on making that declaration sound so _forlorn_ , but, well, there you go.

eddy hums in reply, eyes slightly glassy as he turns his focus inward, and brett takes the opportunity to sneak a peek at the other man's violin case strapped to his back. sleek and silver and well-polished: definitely someone in higher standing in the musical world than he is.

oh god, what if eddy's a _soloist_? brett would die out of sheer mortification and envy if he were. here he is, still jobless with an old scuffed violin to keep him company, and in the presence of someone who looks as if he has his life well put together.

things aren't really looking good so far.

as if sensing the brewing dark cloud of brett's thoughts, eddy clears his throat and gives him a smile: a small, adorably toothy thing. "ah, yeah, i should've figured, since you're carrying a violin case." the man laughs self-depreciatingly. brett's heart skips a beat. "sorry—yeah, that was fairly obvious. but anyway, do you feel any better yet? do you need anything?"

it's here that warmth ripples through brett's chest, against all odds. it really is a sweet gesture that this man is doing for him, and he isn't one to let that go unrewarded. "no, it's alright, i'm fine." eddy's eyebrow climbs to his hairline, and at the sight of that, brett's mouth involuntarily curves up into a smile. "no, really. thank you. i mean it. is-is there any way for me to pay you back?"

even as he asks that, brett knows quite well that the contents of his wallet are getting thinner and thinner as days go by. he is in no position to offer freebies, but this man has literally gone above and beyond for someone he's just met like ten minutes ago. he has to at least pay him back _somehow_.

as expected, eddy shakes his head, but brett is relentless. "please, it's the least i can do as thanks. dinner maybe, my treat? or i can at least pay you for the water?" he's half-aware that he's babbling by now, but the words suddenly dry up the moment eddy gently nudges his arm.

"it's fine, mate. don't worry about it." brett opens his mouth to protest, and the other man lifts up a finger to stall whatever words are about to come out. "if you're _really_ worried about that, then you can pay me back some other time, and not right now, when you look like you're dead on your feet. i'll even give you my number, see? this payback thing is a promise now, don't you dare skip out on me."

 _shut up, brain_. brett nods meekly, a bit overwhelmed. "ah. yeah, that's a good plan."

eddy's smile turns sharper, becomes a delighted smirk, and god above, who on earth _is_ this man? brett is halfway convinced he's an alien or something.

"one last thing," eddy continues. "let me walk you home. just, you know, to make sure you don't faint somewhere along the way, and then it'll be _my_ fault somehow."

 _shut up, brain._ brett laughs, all past worries faded into the wind. "okay, mate, that sounds fair. let's go."


	3. chapter three

alright, so.

 _clearly_ , eddy is in over his head with this whole stranger-on-bus-stop-bench situation, and by this point, you'd think he'd be in the practice room by now, running over his audition pieces with a sense of renewed enthusiasm over the fact that he's done a good deed today.

but no. no, he isn't.

instead, he's walking down a street with sun-warmed brick buildings, hands in his pockets as he trails after aforementioned stranger on the way to the other man's apartment. the sun continues to pound down on the world with fiery aggression, and sweat is beginning to pool at the back of eddy's neck. he'd sell a kidney for a chance to get out of the heat, but, well: he's got prior obligations.

 _it's all for a good cause_ , eddy tells himself. _you're getting free food out of this._ it most definitely has nothing to do with the way brett's eyes had turned doe-soft when eddy had offered to walk him home, of course not. what sort of man does he take himself for?

all things considered, the short walk they're taking together isn't half-bad. over the course of the journey, eddy's learned a fair few things about the other man: he's a violinist looking for orchestra auditions; he lives with a roommate he barely gets to see outside of his odd working hours at the local grocer; he has an overwhelming love for bubble tea. eddy is more of a coffee person, but he supposes he can relate to the man's obsession with the beverage in some way. 

in exchange, eddy shares that he, too, is a violinist looking for _more_ orchestra auditions, as he's slated to perform with a string quartet in the city concert hall over the next few weeks. he shares his desire to become a soloist, and when brett echoes the same sentiment, he can't help the grin that tugs at his lips. it's almost strange, the way they seem to fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, the way the words flow between them as if they've known each other longer than a few hours.

"you should try out for this audition i'm going to next tuesday," he tells brett, absentmindedly observing the way it takes the other man two steps to match his singular footfall. "you might get in, hey?"

"maybe," brett replies, noncommittal. eddy shakes his head; he's definitely going to pester him until he gives in. "i gotta check my schedule first, see if there's any openings."

"what openings? you're practically free all week." eddy taps the violin case in the shorter man's grasp to accentuate his point. "i'll send you the details; i won't forget."

brett huffs a laugh in response, and eddy's heart feels light. the other man looks better already, a light pink flush already staining his cheeks courtesy of the simmering heat, and for that, eddy is immensely glad he's taken the effort to ensure the man's safe arrival home.

all too soon, they finally arrive at a nondescript apartment door, the words on the faded bronze plaque just barely visible on the archway. it doesn't really look like a fancy building at all, not quite like eddy's place uptown, and there's a strange smell emanating from under the doorframe.

"you _sure_ you live here?" he asks brett, looking up at the towering brick face of the apartment block. the other man smiles, shrugs as he digs through his coat for his keys. with a metal jangle, brett twists the doorknob and curses under his breath when the door jams.

"well, it's got the best view this side of town, so," brett trails off, placing his shoulder against the wood and pushing the door hard to get it open. eddy sticks his hands in his pockets and tries not to look too amused at the sight. "could've been worse. good neighbors, though; they don't mind me playing at ungodly hours even though the walls are thin."

eddy grins, pulling out his phone and wordlessly motioning for the other man to do the same. "that's the life, right? god, i wish i had understanding neighbors." well, he actually _does_ , and his bedroom is soundproof enough to allow for playing at night without disturbing anybody, but brett doesn't need to know that. he's trying to _relate_ , damn it.

without further ado, brett gives up his phone for eddy to enter in his number before returning it to its owner. "there," eddy says, holding up his own mobile and wiggling it, "i've secured my dinner."

the other man laughs. "yeah, yeah, i'll mark it on my calendar somewhere." brett pauses, and for an uncertain moment, the two men stand there awkwardly staring at each other in silence. "well, thanks for looking out for me, man. i appreciate it."

"no problem, bro," eddy replies, because that's what friends say to each other. "i'll see you around, yeah?"

"yeah," brett salutes him, grin as bright as the sun. "bye, eddy."

"bye, brett." and with that, eddy takes off into the hustle and bustle of the city once more.

• • •

that night, he pulls out the sheets for the franck violin sonata, places them on the music stand overlooking the balcony and the shimmering city lights below. the first few notes begin to ring out against the walls, carried out through the open window into the wind, and eddy thinks he's never played the piece more sweetly in his entire life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the franck sonata.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCp5XC2rsEM)


	4. chapter four

to say brett's _thankful_ he's met eddy chen would be an understatement. he won't go so far as to say he's happy he got turned down in that fateful audition that led to their meeting, but it's a pretty close thing.

it had been a glorious few hours spent in the other's company, if he is to be completely honest with himself. brett's social circle isn't as big as he'd once hoped it would be, and so any moments he'd actually enjoy spending time conversing with others are few and far between. eddy had been an anomaly, a fly in the ointment, but a good one; brett hadn't expected them to jive together well, but they had.

as it turns out, eddy chen also seems to keep his promises. within minutes of brett's first wary text in the other's direction, the man had sent him the details about the audition he had urged brett to try out for. he'd almost spat out his chinese takeaway upon reading the audition's venue: somewhere uptown, definitely not brett's kind of scene. nevertheless, he'd agreed to meet eddy there. what more could he lose at this point, anyway?

they've chatted back and forth for a while, but then eddy's texts had simply—petered out. for days after, brett had been half torn between anxious worry and forced indifference. the other man's probably fine. surely, if someone like eddy needed some help, they'd have a support group or something, and not chatting with some stranger they met only once.

the thought that something had happened to eddy still gnaws at him, though. he'd been distracted enough to accidentally swipe five bottles of wine in the cash register for a confused middle schooler who had only wanted a juice box.

yeah, not his finest moment.

sitting in a plushy seat in the waiting hall, brett checks his phone again: still no reply from eddy. he hadn't expected one anyway, but god, he'd take just about anything to distract himself from the nervousness creeping up his spine like ivy leaves up a trellis.

"hi!" a bright chirp from his left. brett looks over and smiles politely at the blonde woman grinning cheerfully at him. "you look kinda sick, are you nervous? i'm cynthia! you are?"

the rapid-fire sentences make brett's anxiety a little bit worse off, funnily enough, but he's not one to be rude to someone who's trying to strike up a friendly conversation. "i'm brett," he introduces himself, and after a few minutes, cynthia the cellist has showed off her instrument way too many times than is necessary. he doesn't mind, though; at least he doesn't feel like he wants to bolt at any given opportunity.

"eddy?" at the mention of that familiar name, brett's head swivels in the direction of the woman who had uttered it. "eddy chen? _he's_ auditioning?" a murmur ripples through the crowd; it doesn't sound all that benign. is he just reading too much into this?

"what's up with that?" brett asks cynthia, whose eyes widen at the query.

"you don't know—? ah, well. he's got a reputation of sorts, see?" she begins to study her perfectly manicured fingers. "he's sort of— _really_ cold. stone-cold. he barely talks to me, or to _anyone_ , for that matter, whenever we see each other in audition calls."

brett raises his eyebrows, keeps his mouth shut to avoid gaping. that doesn't sound right.

"i don't know, i mean—he's sort of known as _that_ guy. y'know, the prodigy who can't work well with others and only cares about 'the music', or whatever. kinda like sherlock holmes, i guess?" cynthia laughs, taps her cello case with a pink nail. "he nails every audition piece they ever give him, though, i'll give him that. damn _prodigies_ , my god. his inbox must be bursting with people begging to play with him."

before he can even begin to absorb that information, the din of the crowd suddenly comes to a hush, equal parts awed and envious. brett instinctively hunches over, burrowing further into his hoodie in an effort to hide his face from whatever is coming.

"oh, speak of the devil," says cynthia, and well, what do you know? eddy chen himself strides into the building like he'd climbed straight out of a fashion magazine, _what the hell._

brett can't help himself: his eyes begin to trail over that form-fitting suit, the way the fabric hugs those long legs and those muscled arms, and _oh my god, shut up, brain._

eddy hasn't noticed him yet. does brett even want him to?

in his inaction, frozen in his seat, the decision is made for him. eddy passes by without even turning his head to look at anyone once, expression just as hard and unflinching as cynthia had explained. brett would feel a bit hurt, but he's already too shocked to feel anything else other than the sensation of white noise.

"see, what did i tell you?" cynthia shakes her head as eddy rounds the corner into the audition room without waiting like everyone else. "stone-cold."

brett has the sinking feeling that he is so utterly _screwed_.


	5. chapter five

eddy chen is many things, but a social butterfly he most certainly is not.

well, he's a good person, he thinks. he tries to help where he can—case in point: a certain brett yang—but he has the tendency to forget his obligations easily, become callous without thinking. he can be a bit— _intense_ when it comes to the music too, yes, fine, he can own up to that. he doesn't really mean any disrespect to anyone, though. it's not within his capacity to dictate what others think of him, and so he'll have to make do, no matter the public opinion.

what others think of him are mere distractions. the only critics eddy cares about are those that will bring him closer to his dreams, step by step.

so really, even as he wades through the parting crowd like moses amidst the sea, eddy hears the whispers, whatever verbal volleys they throw his way. he shrugs them off like he has a million times before and continues forward, game face on.

he has an audition to do. there can be no obstacles allowed in his way.

(at the back of his mind, something tingles like a reminder, like an alarm. he's missing something important. he's too focused on the challenge ahead to notice.)

• • •

what's interesting about this particular audition is that, while it's a blind audition on the part of the judges, there's a glass pane that leads out into the waiting hall, allowing for the other musicians outside to act as an audience to whoever is standing ready to perform. eddy pays the window and the curious stares beyond no heed, walks right up to the music stand and pulls out his audition piece: ysaye 3. that should suffice for this thing, shouldn't it?

he takes out his violin, his bow, preps his shoulder rest and looks over at the curtain separating him from the judges' table. breathe in, breath out. focus.

_no distractions._

he closes his eyes, places the bow on the string, and the world fades around him.

• • •

whenever eddy plays, his mind wanders.

he sees images, flashes of a life lived and experienced: a boy fiddling with his first violin, the marks of a heavy-handed father entirely too fond of alcohol, the absence of a mother who should've been there when her child needed her.

he hears sounds: the feather-light caress of a feminine voice, the beloved tone of his instrument, the gentle repetition of _no distractions, eddy. no distractions._

he feels sensations: the bite of a child's first encounter with violin strings, the slap of a hand against a delicate wrist, the press of soft, lost lips against his.

he sees, he dreams, he remembers.

_no distractions, eddy._

the piece is done. he opens his eyes to an awestruck audience and a distant swell of applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the ysaye violin sonata no. 3.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6aFVHrDzbB8)


	6. chapter six

brett feels something in him die a little at the sound of the music the tall violinist coaxes from his instrument. but like, in a good way, because what the hell, eddy chen has been holding out on him _big time_.

"i had no idea he could play that well," he murmurs to cynthia, who ironically enough is lost in the tune eddy has so masterfully brought out into the hall, ringing with intensity: a prodigy laid bare for the world to admire.

with his interpretation, you'd think he was on par with hahn or vengerov. who on earth even _is_ eddy chen?

the final note of the sonata echoes against the walls, and good lord, the judges hadn't even bothered to stop him from playing everything. brett feels something gurgling in his stomach, a hungry beast of sorts, and isn't sure whether it is envy or—something else.

right as he attempts to sort out the murky feelings rampaging around his chest like a herd of elephants, a feminine voice clearly says, "brett yang? you're next, please come over."

oh god. he's expected to play after _that_?

from where he stands by the doorway to the audition room, eddy's gaze alightens with recognition, and when they begin to search the hall for him, brett immediately wants to sink into the floor and disappear.

_great. just great._

"i think you'll do amazing," cynthia offers, giving him a thumbs up, and yes, okay, he can do this without passing out, at the very least. brett stands up from his seat and shuffles forward, dodging pitying looks in his direction as he lowers his head and focuses on breathing properly.

_one, two, three, four, one, two—_

a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him, and when brett looks up, lo and behold: it's his once-savior. "you'll do great, man," is what eddy tells him, a glimmer of apology in his eyes, and against all logic and reason, the anxious knot in his chest untightens, settles down into calm determination.

"yeah. thanks," brett replies, offering a slight smile in return. he hasn't forgotten how the other man had abandoned him in the area of text messages, but he isn't unreasonable either. "you did pretty great too." and with that, brett moves into the audition room, fumbling with his violin case and hurriedly placing his sheet music onto the music stand.

 _fugue from the bach sonata 1 in g minor._ this should work. brett takes one last measure of breath, and then falls into the welcoming arms of his music.

• • •

whenever brett plays, his mind blanks out, narrows down to the notes etched across his brain and the muscle memory of pieces he's heard and loved and performed. it is better this way; he does not have to think of his anxiety, or his low economic station, or the perpetual loneliness that lingers in him like a ghost clinging to that last taste of life.

he simply _is_. one with the music, one with the soul of him. his music saves him, and with that, brett finishes the movement with a flourish he would have never had the guts to do had he been anywhere else.

the slow trickle of embarrassment pooling in his gut is familiar. the sound of applause, however—that's pretty new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the bach violin sonata no. 1.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTUWCr3IXxw)


	7. chapter seven

eddy chen is a monumental _idiot_.

his presence half-forgotten by the audience in favor of the man standing within the audition room, playing his heart out in an act of showmanship enough to rival his own, eddy does what he's never done before in any audition ever: he leans against the wall behind the crowd, waits without once checking his wristwatch, and observes.

lost in the music as he is, brett looks as if he's glowing. god, he's _dazzling_.

at some point between bars 54 and 56, eddy comes to the realization that he is no longer sure whether he is riveted to that display of masterful technique or to the sight of the other man himself. how come eddy's never heard of him before that fateful day they've crossed paths on the sidewalk? who on earth even _is_ brett yang?

again, eddy is a monumental idiot. this man: this is who he's forgotten, who he's abandoned somewhere in the past week. no wonder he's been unknowingly agitated; he's literally allowed himself to forget a person of this calibre, a person who hadn't known about his reputation or his skill and had befriended him all the same.

well. eddy won't make that same mistake again, rest assured.

brett sends the last note flying into the air, and for a moment, there is stunned silence. eddy's gaze flickers over to the judges; they seem rightfully awed. and then—the applause. he's never done it before either, but he joins in with a few claps of his own, because god knows brett yang deserves every inch of recognition.

the other man's cheeks are stained pink at the attention he receives, and he nods to the audience before hurriedly making his way out of the audition room. eddy takes a few unknowing steps in his direction, wanting to meet him halfway, when a blonde woman beats him to the punch, coming around to playfully slap brett on the arm, and _oh_.

his footsteps falter. eddy almost bumps into another musician and only remembers to apologize after the person glares at him. that won't do wonders for his reputation, but at that moment, he doesn't really mind.

the pair come closer to him, a pleased little smile on brett's lips, and eddy's eyes are caught on them. his own mouth moves without thinking. "sorry, is this your girl?"

brett stutters halfway through a _sorry, wait, what?_ , but he is soon overwhelmed by the woman's affronted gasp. "oh my god—eddy chen, you bastard! we've seen each other so many times before and you _still_ don't recognize me? am i wallpaper at this point?"

cynthia continues on rambling, but all eddy can hear is brett's quiet protest: "i'm not—"

_—not what?_

eddy coughs, drags his wayward mind back into his skull before his thoughts start getting out of hand. "never mind, sorry; i've been assuming." he nods in genuine apology to brett, smiles politely at cynthia without much effort behind the gesture. "besides it not being my business," _and it definitely is none of your business, eddy chen, get a grip!_ , "that's not the point right now." the other man looks confusedly at him, and eddy can't help himself: he huffs out a laugh so out-of-place with the stone-cold persona he's known for that a fair number of people look over to them to see what's going on. "the _point_ is—that was an amazing performance, bro. well done."

brett grins. "thanks, man. i didn't think i could do it, but yeah."

"of course you could do it," cynthia chimes in, poking brett in the arm with a pointed finger. "didn't i tell you you would be amazing?"

"yeah," brett replies, and eddy's mood definitely does not take a downturn, no way.

soft music begins to stream in from the next person in line to audition, and with that, their tiny bubble of conversation is burst. "well, i don't know about you boys, but i'm feeling hungry after that whole show you two gave us." cynthia pretends to wipe sweat from her forehead. "it was pretty awesome. let's go get some food to celebrate, maybe?"

for god knows only what reason, brett turns towards him for a silent second, a question brimming in his eyes, and something tugs in eddy's chest.

_no distractions, eddy. you'll never be—_

he coughs suddenly: a sad, choking sound. "sorry, i, uh—i've made plans beforehand." the vague disappointment in brett's eyes must only be eddy's imagination, but it jabs all the same. "sorry. maybe next time? i'll treat whoever gets in to this orchestra."

"that better be a promise, eddy chen," cynthia cackles, rubbing her hands together like a cat who's caught a canary, and okay, maybe eddy's being a little unfair towards her. doesn't matter; any musician with nails that fancy is to be regarded with suspicion. they've got _glittery butterfly stickers_ , for goodness sake.

brett smiles and nods. "that's fair," he tells eddy. "just—don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"i won't." aside from statements made to family and to orchestral directors, eddy doesn't think he's meant anything more seriously in his life.

the curve of brett's smile looks all too forgiving, but eddy knows he needs to do more to make up for his error. the pair make their way out into the sunlight first, and eddy knows with a sinking feeling that he is so utterly _screwed_.


	8. chapter eight

all things considered, and if you ignore the sparkly fingernails, cynthia is actually a good conversationalist. she knows how to draw a person out of their shell and feel comfortable around her, and she even pays for their meal, to brett's eternal embarrassment.

it's just—well. there's just no genuine spark that lights up in his chest, and no, brett is _not_ thinking about a certain tall violinist who had, in fact, sparked something warm in his chest after months and months of nothing but cold.

not that—not that the other man knows _that_ , anyway. brett's taking that secret to his grave, he hopes. who knows what eddy chen might think if he knew that he—anyway. doesn't matter.

"thanks for hanging out with me for a while," says cynthia, and brett forcibly snaps himself back into the present. "let me know if you get in, please?"

he doesn't see why he shouldn't; he and cynthia are probably friends at this point. "sure. thanks for the free meal, by the way."

"that's me, saint cynthia," she retorts, laughing brightly. "feeding the lost and hungry violinists of the world. i'll see you in rehearsals, got it?"

"hopefully. thanks, cynthia." brett waves the blonde woman goodbye, breathing deeply for a moment before taking his own journey back to his apartment. the afternoon sun is warm against his skin, and for the first time in a long time, he feels— _content_. content is a good word for it.

his phone vibrates in his pocket. only a few select individuals have his number, and the thought that it could possibly be a call from the orchestra kicks brett's heart into overdrive. he scrambles to dig his mobile from the depths of his coat, and when he checks what that notification had been for—

 **[3:30] eddy chen:** _hey you heard from the orchestra yet?_

brett shakes his head, a smile coming to his mouth unbidden. a distant thought at the back of his mind questions the delighted reaction to this particular sight, but he pointedly ignores it.

 **[3:31] brett yang:** _nah, you?_

 **[3:31] eddy chen:** _negative_

 **[3:32] brett yang:** _okay cool_

 **[3:35] eddy chen:** _so how did that date with cellist go?_

 **[3:35] brett yang:** _funny_

 **[3:35] brett yang:** _are you bored, or is this just your way of checking on me_

brett rereads his text, and okay, no, wait, that's a really forward question. he's half tempted to bash his head on the nearest lamp post, but then that would be counterproductive. he needs his brain cells for this situation more than ever.

 **[3:37] eddy chen:** _i'm being a good FRIEND!_

 **[3:37] eddy chen:** _by being extra attentive_

 **[3:37] eddy chen:** _and cheering you on from the sidelines_

 _smooth, good save._ brett allows a chuckle to let loose from his lips, muffled into his sleeve as he crosses the empty street.

 **[3:38] brett yang:** _lol okay, that made me laugh, thanks_

 **[3:39] brett yang:** _don't think this makes up in any way for you ghosting on me last week tho_

 **[3:41] eddy chen:** _no, of course not! god i'm really sorry about that_

 **[3:41] eddy chen:** _i'll make up for it, i swear :(_

 **[3:42] brett yang:** _yeah okay, no need for sad face :) what happened?_

 **[3:46] eddy chen:** _nothing really_

 **[3:46] eddy chen:** _it's just_

 **[3:47] eddy chen:** _life was complicated then_

brett laughs, shakes his head as he inputs his response.

 **[3:48]** **brett yang:** _life is complicated now_

 **[3:48]** **brett yang:** _when is it ever not? :)_

 **[3:49]** **eddy chen:** _point made :)_

 **[3:50]** **brett yang:** _:)_

 **[3:51]** **eddy chen:** _:)_

 **[3:52]** **brett yang:** _stop that and say something substantial_

just as he lets the reply fly over to eddy's phone somewhere across the virtual distance, chest unspeakably soft and warm, brett gets another text notification.

it's the orchestra. he's been accepted as concertmaster.


	9. interlude - the panel

"they're both so exceptional, i'm left second-guessing my decision."

"they're incredible, aren't they? truly extraordinary. i've expected as much from mr. chen, but this new entrant—brett yang? absolutely sublime."

"how come no one's ever heard of him before?

"wrong judgement. . . or perhaps simply uninspiration?"

"i see. he's found a muse, you believe?"

"feelings and passion are so often tied to marvellous playing. i believe mr. yang is a fantastic musician in his own right, but whether that added spark of brilliance continues to glow remains to be seen."

"so we are decided?"

"we are decided."


	10. chapter nine

this day is definitely going into the top ten in eddy's lifetime. if he hadn't been in public, he'd probably be screaming his head off, but thank god he's got some semblance of decency left in him, because _that_ would have been all too embarrassing.

the orchestra has reached out to him. he's been accepted—no, _invited_ —to be their soloist for the upcoming concert, his name up there in star-studded lights. he's achieved what he's set out to do, and the very thought is like a caffeine shot straight to the heart: wild and riotous jubilation.

the best thing about this, if eddy is to be completely honest, is that he gets to share his joy with someone else, someone he trusts and can be happy for just as they can be happy for him. he's—never really had anyone like that before, until brett yang, and _god_ , he's just so, so thankful.

 **[4:07] brett yang:** _I GOT IN!!!!! :))))))_

 **[4:09] eddy chen:** _me too!! :D position?_

 **[4:10] brett yang:** _hear this, peasant_

 **[4:10] brett yang:** _i, emperor yang and your new concertmaster, will be seeing you at the palace soon_

eddy slaps a hand over his mouth, but it is too late to quell the bubbling laughter spilling over into the open air of the train car. he's so startlingly loud that the woman seated beside him inches away discreetly. eddy's too far gone in his amusement to care.

what a dreamboat brett yang is. he hasn't laughed like that in public for ages.

 **[4:12] eddy chen:** _i'm honored, your majesty_

 **[4:12] eddy chen:** _as your soloist, i bring gifts from a distant land to your court_

 **[4:15] brett yang:** _OMG_

**[4:15] brett yang:** _BRO_

**[4:16] brett yang:** _you should've started with that! congratulations!! :)))_

 **[4:17] eddy chen:** _thanks, and you too! oh my god. . . i'm so happy, i'm ready to cry here on the train_

 **[4:18] brett yang:** _awww that's okay! take a pic for posterity's sake_

 **[4:20] eddy chen:** _you absolute monster >.<_

 **[4:21] brett yang:** _and your new emperor, lest you forget :))))_

he's spent so much time grinning at his phone like a loon that he's probably alienated the grannies on the train at this point, and he even almost misses his station, but eddy's heart is buoyant and joyous, and really, that's all he needs right now.

• • •

later on, he goes over his scales without much thought, staring blankly at the darkened sky and its shimmering stars from beyond his window. here in the ungodly hours, the apartment feels all too cold, too empty, too—lonely. just as he is about to reminiscence about his past and all the dark clouds that action brings, his phone pings: a text notification.

 **[11:27] brett yang:** _night eddy_

warmth blooms in eddy's chest. his fingers move of their own accord, pressing the call button as his free hand reaches for the violin he had put down to check his mobile. brett picks up after the second ring.

_"eddy?"_

a faint, mischievous smile curls on eddy's lips, and he begins to play the first notes of brahms' lullaby, grin widening as choked-off laughter rings out from the other end of the call. "sorry. i was going to play _fugue_ , but then i realized i couldn't play it as good as you."

 _"you liar, the hell you even saying, as if you can't play it better,"_ brett grumbles, and that's the last straw: eddy chuckles loudly, the music abruptly cutting off as he clutches his stomach, his body shaking. _"yeah, yeah, keep going. we'll see who's laughing at rehearsals, you show-off."_

"forgive me, oh great emperor yang," eddy replies, tapering off his laughter, opting to grin aimlessly in the dim light like a lunatic. "was merely looking for an offering to gift you tonight."

 _"great, approved; now go to sleep, you idiot."_

eddy nods, even though brett can't see him, and then hums in agreement. "yeah, okay. good night, brett."

music flits over from the other end, brett picking up where he had left off, finishing the piece: a lullaby completed. eddy falls asleep with that last high note ringing in his ears, sending him off to the land of dreams like nothing else ever has before.

it's a good night, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [brahms' lullaby.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t894eGoymio)


	11. chapter ten

for all his jokes about being an emperor, brett doesn't feel that confident showing up at the first rehearsal all willy-nilly. he's a nobody in a sea of professional musicians, and the fact that he's risen to a top position without any warning will ultimately leave him scrambling for any sort of common ground with strangers he's supposed to be leading through the music.

his only saving grace are the two friends he's made: he has cynthia, who's known in many circles per section of the orchestra and who's taken up the position of principal cellist; he has eddy, who's known for being an ice prince but who's also the soloist for the concert they'll be rehearsing for. talk about opposite sides of a coin—brett's just the (un)fortunate soul sandwiched between the two extremes, but he _is_ grateful for them.

"you don't have to look all that tense, you know?" cynthia nudges him gently, and yes, fine, he's been all wound up and stiff in his seat since he had first sat down on it, but brett can't really help himself. funnily enough, it's not the thought of meeting the rest of the orchestra that shakes him. it's seeing eddy again, face to face.

it's been two weeks since they've both gotten the news of their respective spots in the orchestra, and true to his word, the other man does not fail to deliver on his promise to make up for the prior texting mishap. they've kept constant contact, and just as before, brett is astounded at how well they fit one another. had he been a more fanciful sort, he would say they could have been—

the doors to the hall open. the scattered hubs of conversation all come to swift silence. his breath unconsciously catches in his throat.

a stout and bearded old man walks in, eddy chen hot on his heels looking like a fashion model yet _again_. if he hadn't been sure about his friend's higher socioeconomic status before, brett is pretty damn sold on the idea of _eddy chen: rich kid_ by now. the first man introduces himself as the conductor, then introduces eddy as their soloist for this particular concerto. after a few murmurs roll over the crowd, the conductor gets to work chatting up the principals, and when brett returns to the concertmaster's seat, an overly familiar figure is there awaiting him.

"your majesty," eddy murmurs lowly as he comes near, the moniker spoken for brett's ears alone, and _good lord_ , the man has no business owning that deep a voice. 

_shut up, shut up, brain._

"peasant," he chokes out after a few stunned seconds, forcing out startled laughter to cover up the slip. "it's good to see you again."

"you too, bro," the taller violinist responds, a soft smile on his face as he nods at brett before moving away to take his spot near the conductor. brett has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself after that, completely missing the speculative look cynthia shoots in his direction.

• • •

no matter how many times he's played it alone in his run-down apartment or in a concert hall with other musicians, brett will never get tired of the brahms violin concerto. it is perhaps due to his own personal enjoyment of the piece that two hours fly by so quickly, peppered with conductor interruptions and sectional repetitions as they are.

in the short moments between working on the music, brett meets martin, the shaggy-haired principal oboist tasked with the solo part in the _adagio._ he acquaints himself with the giggly twins seated just behind him in the violin section, learns they're half-Japanese and ends up learning quite a few curse words in another language. but mostly, brett focuses on eddy.

from the first _martelé_ stroke of his bow against the strings, their soloist streaks through the first movement like a force of nature, unflinching and unrelenting. eddy's interpretation is aggressive and furious, blazing through the arpeggios with crisp articulation. it's not the way brett would have played it should he ever get the chance, but that's fine: to each musician his own style. it's magnificent playing nevertheless, and brett's caught himself almost missing a few notes here and there with how thoroughly fixated he is on eddy's performance.

he tells the other man as much when they begin packing their instruments for lunch break. "that was pretty amazing," brett smiles, gently tapping eddy's shoulder with his own bow. "i see you've been practicing, hey?"

eddy smirks and salutes him. "yeah, yeah. thanks, man. took way too long on that cadenza, but hey, joachim's rendition needed more time to get those notes all right."

"i'm more for kreisler's cadenza, actually, but it's all good," brett grins. "hey, maybe you wanna—"

"now," cynthia chimes in out of nowhere and startles the two men, slapping her palms and rubbing them together, a cheshire cat grin clear as day on her face. vague disappointment simmers in brett's gut, but he pointedly ignores it in favor of raising his eyebrows at the cellist's antics. "while the violas are doing sectionals, i think we're free to escape for a little while. mister chen, i believe you owe us a meal, yes?"

a long-suffering sigh spills from eddy's throat, but he eventually shrugs and pulls on his coat. "well, i did promise, didn't i?"

"yes, you did," the blonde woman crows triumphantly, and really, with the promise of free food and good company, brett's mood lightens considerably. he follows the two out the door into the warm heat of the afternoon sun.

(agitation continues to rumble at the back of his mind: like distant storm clouds, like an imminent wake up call.)


	12. chapter eleven

it's not that eddy dislikes cynthia, not really. she's an exceptional musician: diligent, methodical, thorough. there's nothing he can say to critique her playing.

she's just—unsurprisingly _noisy_.

"hallelujah," she crows as the food gets served to them steaming hot and delicious. "we thank the heavens for eddy chen and what must be his overflowing bank account."

brett snorts, then slaps a hand over his mouth as if to take it back, and fine, eddy can appreciate the humor in that. it's one thing to know that around the table, only one person can afford to pay for everyone's food without breaking a sweat, and another thing to take it easy and joke about it.

later on, however, it becomes all too apparent that cynthia is way too thrilled over having finally pinned him down for a proper chat, and with brett right there next to her listening to every word, eddy doesn't really have much of a choice in the matter. he knows his reputation; he knows others are curious of him and his past.

he finds he wants brett to know more about him beyond teasing text messages and late-night conversations procrastinating over their weird practice hours. (cynthia's presence here is merely an additional variable.)

so, that's what eddy does: he shares about his family, typical Asian-strict and work-oriented and filthy rich, and how he'd once been forced to learn the violin before he had come to love it himself. he does not share any more than that; they won't like what they'll hear if he continues any deeper. in return, brett offers similar stories of his life as a firstborn son in an Asian family, supporting eddy's claims of being denied dinner if he hasn't practiced with a bright, commiserating grin. it's a give-and-take, an ebb and flow, and eddy is immensely grateful.

that's when things go south.

after that, the topic turns to whatever else they can discuss, anything under the sun. what's funny is that, despite his usual dominance, eddy finds it difficult to slip in between the two and join in their conversation. every time he senses an opening left for him by one of the pair to speak, brett suddenly laughs or cynthia suddenly giggles, and he's lost the opportunity just like that. for the most part, eddy has been relegated to spectator status, and it's—not a very good feeling to have.

eddy watches the two compare hand sizes—because that's just what musicians do, okay?—while he polishes off the last of his salad and pretends his fingers aren't itching where they're wrapped around his utensils. eddy hears bits and pieces of gossip about the members of the violin section and the cello section he wouldn't normally be hearing about. eddy catches himself watching brett more, his hair falling over his eyes in soft waves, and wonders if maybe—

self-awareness smacks him on the head like a ton of bricks, and _oh god._ he's jealous. he's jealous that he's having to share _his_ friend with _their_ friend.

eddy's gaze trails from brett to cynthia, and he's surprised to see her looking back at him, eyes bright and edged with amusement. he looks away first; that feels like he's lost a competition, but at this point, eddy's too distracted to care.

(he misses the knowing smile that flickers on her mouth. that should have been the first sign, really.)


	13. chapter twelve

things have been going well, until they suddenly don't.

brett should've known, really. of course there's a reason eddy chen is known for being a stone-cold, stuck-up drama queen; it had only been a matter of time before his temper explodes on everything and everyone around him.

"no, no, no," the soloist grumbles, stops playing—and consequently stops the entire orchestra with that—for what must have been the fiftieth time for this particular passage, and it's quite apparent that the musicians looming behind brett's back are exasperated as hell. he supposes the situation is at a code red with the way cynthia's chewing on her sparkly nails in the cello section and the way the conductor's looking red-faced and exhausted, but no one has had the boldness to stand up to eddy yet.

a few moments pass, and it turns out there's someone who _does_. thank god brett doesn't have to do it himself; he had been this close to yelling at eddy for the sake of everyone affected, but he _really_ hadn't wanted to do it. "the hell's the matter now, chen?" martin runs a hand through his hair, looking as if tempted to pull out some strands. "why are you stopping?"

"the problem, _thomson_ ," eddy retorts, voice coming out way more snooty than he probably intended it to, in brett's opinion at least, "is that you're messing everything up from measure 78 onwards, and it's screwing with _my_ head."

the oboist's affronted gasp is loud enough to be heard from the concertmaster's seat. " _excuse me_?" 

brett sinks lower in his chair, trying to hide his face behind the music stand as the argument unravels across the stage, harsh statements bouncing off the edges of the room, the noise escalating until—

"that's it," the conductor snaps, stomping his foot down to punctuate his point, and _good lord_ , brett can't quite hold back the cringe that makes its way over his expression at that. the man orders eddy off the stage, which he promptly vacates with a frustrated huff. even as the conductor then advises the orchestra to disperse for an early lunch break, brett's eyes are glued to his friend's retreating figure, unconsciously taking note of the door he leaves through.

"god, what a bastard," he hears martin groan as the man takes his place next to cynthia among the seats they've congregated around in the hall. "he's a great soloist and all, but damn, he's such a pain to work with sometimes."

"he's always been like that," quips the red-haired lady beside brett, shaking her head as she packs her flute away. "you know why they never try and yank him outta our concerts? i hear his family's got clout in the industry and they aren't afraid of using it to enforce his position in the—" 

brett clears his throat, smiling calmly even as his eyes gleam dangerously behind his glasses. "that sort of talk isn't very nice," he reminds the woman. calmly.

"i think he just had a really bad day," cynthia chimes in, subtly fixing the uneven nails she'd chewed on earlier. "won't you check up on him, brett? you're close; maybe you can talk him 'round to get himself sorted out."

at that suggestion, brett feels a bit like a sacrificial lamb. they're friends, there's no denying that, but he isn't very sure of where he stands where eddy chen is concerned. how can they be sure his opinion or his presence is worth anything to a man lost in his own ash cloud of volcanic temper?

when brett does not immediately answer, cynthia grins and taps his shoulder three times with a finger that boasts a particularly glittery pink butterfly. "for good luck," she explains. "he won't get mad at you. probably."

"that _probably_ 's not very reassuring," says brett, but he does go to search for his friend. (he would have gone and searched for eddy no matter what they would have said, anyway. it's nice to have an excuse to think it would have only been for that reason and nothing else.)


	14. chapter thirteen

for all the elegance and maturity he seems to outwardly exude at the best of times, eddy's not above being petty yet. caught up in the thunderous cacophony of his frustration as he is, his thoughts are encased in white noise, all narrowed down to the subject of his ire.

the music isn't perfect. the real thing they're playing isn't matching up to the notes he's hearing in his head, and it's driving him insane. he isn't sure whether it is his fault or that of the orchestra themselves or if it is in fact a shared flaw, but it had been so easy to slap all the blame on martin and bicker with him for it. the fact remains: there is an obstacle before him, and he cannot move forward.

 _it's all because you've gotten so damned distracted by_ —

the door clatters open, and eddy half-dives further into the shadow of the potted plants clustered around the balcony. he is in no position to be interacting with _anyone_ right now, but lo and behold, brett yang's head pokes through the entryway.

god, eddy _really_ doesn't want to deal with this, not while mindless fury is ricocheting around his skull like a ping-pong ball.

"hey bro," brett ventures after a few seconds spent wordlessly staring at each other, "what was up with that earlier?" he moves forward into the outdoor space, and eddy has to resist the urge to shrink further against the brick wall, melt into the grooves. anything to take him away from this conversation.

"it's nothing, man, just nerves or whatever." he has to get the other man to leave before he says something he'll regret later on. eddy turns away and flaps his hand in the direction of the door. "just leave me alone for now, please."

silence. definitely no audible sign of brett leaving any time soon. _goddamn it._ "nerves? that was definitely _not_ because of nerves; you're way too confident for something like that." the scrape of a chair against the floor, the rustle of fabric as brett sits himself down on it. "what happened? you heard something wrong, didn't you?"

"yeah, i did," eddy replies, and his tongue has definitely taken a mind of its own here. he turns towards the other man, splaying his hands out to punctuate his point. "it's all the mistakes the orchestra is doing, and i won't stand for it. i'm not playing with all those errors messing up my flow."

"sorry, what?" brett's voice takes on a sharp edge; his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "eddy, you're the only one thinking that. it was all pretty good, what we've rehearsed so far. the conductor wasn't even stopping us; _you_ were. i don't understand what you mean with the imperfection you're accusing us of."

"well, forgive me for being too meticulous about my craft." eddy taps his temple, his voice rising in volume like a tumultuous hurricane. "it's all here, the perfect rendition is in my head, and we're just not _getting_ it!"

"no one can hear whatever's going on in your head, eddy!" brett's risen from his seat now, a red flush over his cheeks. "you don't have the right to start yelling at people just because they aren't getting it right yet. you could just show us—"

"that'll take way too long; you guys should already know this—"

"if you would just have the patience to—"

"i would've thought you all would be up to par—"

"you can't just expect people to be whatever you want them to be!"

the storm in eddy's chest shows no signs of calming down. no one's ever tried to confront him about his attitude, and that makes him—it makes him—

brett flings his arms in the air, all jerky movements and barely-concealed irritation. "why are you being so damn _stubborn_ about it?"

"because i just want it to be _perfect,_ _and none of you are as close to it as i am!_ "

in the wake of that last violent outburst, brett stops short, his mouth falling open. for a brief moment, their eyes meet across the short distance, and all eddy can hear is the thunderous war-drum-beat of his heart pounding loud in his ears.

_no distractions, eddy. didn't i tell you they'll be nothing but weaknesses?_

"fine. i'll leave you alone, mister i'm-better-than-everyone-else." brett storms back into the building, slamming the door behind him none too gently, and leaves eddy with the echoes of his words still ringing in his ears. crouching against the wall, he puts his head in his hands and sighs.

that had gone well.


	15. chapter fourteen

the moment brett plops down on the empty chair across from cynthia in a streetside cafe for lunch, his mouth begins to run off without much input from his fog-filled brain.

"why the hell is eddy chen such a bastard?"

cynthia snorts, shaking her head as she waves a hand for a waiter to come over to their table. "believe me, honey, i've heard that a million times before, and my answer will always be the same: i have no idea." they both put the conversation on hold as they order their food, and then she continues with a commiserating smile. "i take it you went to try and talk him down, and then you fought?"

"yeah." brett doesn't mean to sound whiny, but his chest is still aching; his heart is still bruised. he isn't used to arguing with people he considers his friends, but it turns out eddy chen can bring out both the best and the worst in him, and _isn't that a realization?_ he almost forgets he hadn't expounded on what he had meant for cynthia's sake, and so he continues. "we had a shouting match. things were said. i don't want to talk about it."

since he's left eddy's presence, a furious sea of annoyance has churned in his gut, forcing his mind to _think_. the words the other man had said—they hadn't seemed borne out of a spur-of-the-moment outburst or a mildly bad mood. eddy's words had seemed as if they had come from the deepest recesses of his brain, as if they had been ingrained in him from a long, long time ago.

brett just doesn't understand. why on earth does eddy think that way? how could he have possibly gained such a mindset?

"that's fair; you don't have to tell me what you said," cynthia murmurs, taking a dainty sip from her glass of water: the epitome of a picture-perfect listening ear. "just let out what you feel. auntie cynthia is here to listen, sweetheart."

 _eww._ brett's eyebrows knit together in distaste. " _please_ don't call me that. it's weird coming from you."

"okay, okay, sweetie pie, whatever you say," cynthia retorts with a teasing smirk before her expression clears, turns serious. "so just let it out, whatever you're keeping in that brain of yours. i can literally see a dark cloud raining droplets on your head, no kidding."

he can't help himself: he unceremoniously plops his arms down on the table and buries his face in them. not quite something a twenty-something man should be doing, but he doesn't think his companion would mind. "i'm just having problems understanding his point of view."

"yes, he does seem rather full of himself at times, huh?" cynthia shakes her head, smiles even as a groan escapes "he's always been like that, as far as i can remember. didn't i tell you? _stone-cold_. yep, that's eddy chen, alright." her eyelashes flicker, just a little. her eyes turn to him, a faint glimmer in them. "he's been thawing recently, though; not as many meltdowns as the other concerts i've heard about. must be some new influence on him, i don't know."

(it's a testament to brett's frazzled mind that cynthia's implication flies over his head completely.)

"yes, that's all good, but _why_ is he like that?" brett runs fingers through his hair, messing up the orderly strands into bird's-nest disarray. "why does he think like that?"

cynthia hums thoughtfully. "i really have no idea either, and i think everyone else knows nothing too. he's always been so mysterious. so untouchable. unflinching." she shrugs, unable to go on. "perfect, really."

"yeah, that," brett snaps his fingers in recognition. "he kept saying _perfect_ , like he wanted the music to be perfect, us to be perfect, himself to be perfect." he wants to think about the possible reasons why, but he's still emotionally spent. he can't think properly like this.

"maybe it's some weird tic he has? you know we musicians are really eccentric. maybe it's just that or something similar." cynthia stops, turns to brett with an eyebrow raised. "why are you so concerned about him? you're so affected over this that you're literally sweating bullets into the cushion, my god. that's so disgusting."

at that comment, he recoils backward. is he _really_? swiping a hand over his forehead reveals that she is in fact telling the truth, and so he attacks the stash of tissue paper on the table with gusto. "yeah, okay, i—sorry. i just," brett pauses, breath catching in his throat, hand poised to wipe the moisture off his upper lip, "i just want to help." 

he _does_. he really does. more than anything, he just wants to be let in, wants to be considered close, wants to be—

"this would be so much easier if he would just let me _help_ him!"

he's still fuming, smoke coming out of his ears, that he completely misses the sly grin tugging at cynthia's lips. when she chooses to speak, however—brett's world comes to a sudden, screeching stop.

"you like him, don't you?"


	16. interlude - cynthia

they may think her an airhead, but cynthia sees things they don't because apparently, brett yang and eddy chen are idiots on a whole new level, like two peas in a pod of a whole lotta _stupid_. with both their individual and combined intellect, she'd assumed better of them, that they'd figure out that they're practically soulmates in every aspect of the term, but for some godforsaken reason, they somehow—haven't realized yet.

heaven save her from the obliviousness of men.

well, she _had_ tried her best to rein herself in at first, to be quite honest. in the early days of their acquaintance, she had made a promise to herself that she would not in any way meddle with their friendship. come what may: if the boys are really meant to be, then they'd just fall into that mindset on their own and naturally get together.

but _good god_ , the tension is killing her, and the boys don't seem to even _know_ about their own feelings yet.

listen here: cynthia's had to sit through a grand total of _three weeks_ of mutual, soft eyeballing—except never at the same time, always one looking away before the other turns to look at them—and sad puppy faces whenever the other is conversing with anyone else other than them, which is just pathetic and sad, to be honest. why don't they just _tell_ each other that they'd rather be talking to each other than cynthia and the other apparently lesser mortals in the orchestra? she hadn't thought it possible for a person to be that dense, but somehow by some weird fluke of nature, she'd ended up meeting _two_ of them.

even now, brett seems just about ready to fling himself into the sun just to figure out whatever's going on inside eddy's head and make things right, and wow, that's just—really _interesting_.

the bottom line is: brett and eddy are her friends. she adores them both, she wants them to be happy, and the happiest place they could find themselves in is beside each other. whatever issues they both have can be worked out, she's pretty damn sure. she has faith, and god, that sounds way too cheesy, but it's _true._

so really, cynthia takes great pleasure in watching the play of brett's emotions flickering across his face at her question. talk about a deer caught in headlights: brett's somehow doing his best impersonation of the thing, complete with gaping mouth and eyes wide as saucers behind the veneer of his glasses.

_"you like him, don't you?"_

yeah. take _that_ , naysayers; cynthia knows what's up.


	17. chapter fifteen

it takes a fair amount of waiting for the shadows in eddy's mind to retract their claws and slink back into the deepest corners where he keeps them, and so by the time he checks his watch, it's already five minutes past the prescribed lunch time. his stomach is grumbling at him for sustenance, but it's time to get back to work.

he's already done too much damage. he's not looking to get kicked out of a job too.

when he strides into the concert hall, it is with considerably less fury than he had earlier on, but really, that doesn't matter now. he's left a disaster in his wake when he first stormed out of the room; that's not something people easily forget or forgive. even as eddy steps back onto the soloist's position, the other musicians give him a wide berth. 

he's probably just imagining the ice shards their gazes are throwing in his direction, but still: the room temperature feels as if it's dropped twenty degrees.

he does not apologize, not yet, not now. the music comes first, for now. he'll make amends later.

the last of the tardy stragglers finally join the orchestra, among their number the concertmaster and the principal cellist. eddy takes one glance—just _one_ glance—and sees a flush on brett's cheeks, the kind that makes one wonder if, just maybe, he's—

eddy turns his head away, fixes his gaze on the sheet music splayed in front of him. he does not dare take another glance after that.

the conductor takes his place at the podium, looking wearily at eddy for a moment. "i trust we'll be finishing things in an orderly fashion, yes?" he asks the orchestra at large, but it's obvious he's really directing the question at eddy. he responds with a sharp nod, readies himself to play once more. 

after that, it's a straightforward rehearsal; eddy doesn't speak a single word, and he doesn't stop at any point unless the conductor is telling him to. when he draws the bow across the strings, it is with icy precision: perfection, but cool and impassive and somber. the orchestra follows along with him in harmony, the concertmaster leading the rest of the strings to coincide with the musical flairs the soloist dishes out.

they do not look at each other. that, of all things, is what stabs deepest, straight to the marrow.

_no distractions, eddy. didn't i tell you?_

the voice is a resounding echo in his head, over and over: repetitive. eddy breathes in deep and continues to play, the music his only concern. everything else is thrown to the wayside for now.

(entrenched in his own self-reproach, eddy doesn't see that brett _does_ look at him: only when his back is turned. those eyes are not eyes of hatred, not one bit.)

• • •

no matter how many times eddy's rehearsed this in his mind, it still doesn't sound right. however, the opportunity is _right there_ , and he needs to do this before it blows up in his face again. he's _trying_ to be better, okay; he really is.

brett's words— _you don't have the right; you can't just expect people to be whatever you want them to be_ —have _not_ been playing on loop in eddy's brain this whole time, of course not.

just as the principal oboist passes by in the hall, eddy corners him. "hey, man. i-i just wanted to say that," he sighs, hangs his head. "i'm sorry. for, you know, what happened earlier."

martin raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "yeah? really?"

" _really_." eddy can't help the edge his voice adopts at that reply, but he needs to calm down. he takes a deep breath before he continues. "i know i'm not the best of people to work with—"

"—ain't that the truth—"

"— _but_. i'm trying my best to ease up. sorry that i yelled at you. i was," eddy pauses, a familiar pair of eyes all too clear in his mind's eye, "too impatient. i wasn't thinking about others, then. i'll be better next time."

martin gapes at him for a moment, mouth fallen open over the course of eddy's apology, and then he blinks once, twice. eddy resists the urge to fidget. "ah," the other man finally says, and does he really have to sound _that_ disbelieving? is this how much his reputation has preceded him? "hey, it's all good, man. thanks for apologizin'. we all make mistakes here and there, and it's kinda gratifying to see even the great eddy chen does too."

it's eddy's turn to gape, mouthing the words _the great eddy chen_ wordlessly, and martin laughs at him. "yeah, yeah. you're not so bad, chen. you better make sure you work that thing you got out, though, but you're not so bad."

"thanks, i guess," eddy murmurs after a few moments, and they shake hands. apologizing feels like a whole lot of weight off his chest now; that had gone so much better than he'd thought it would.

now—he just needs to hustle up the courage to do it to someone far more important than martin ever will be to him.

(eddy can admit that much to himself now, at the very least.)


	18. chapter sixteen

_"you like him, don't you?"_

brett doesn't think he's ever heard a question so innocently delivered in his entire life, but with the way it hits home in his chest, he doesn't really dwell too long on his analysis of cynthia's oddly angelic smile.

okay, so maybe he's been spending way more time with eddy than with any of his other friends, but that's just because he met eddy first. he'd obviously be more comfortable spending time with someone he's known for longer. and yes, he's been staring a whole lot more than he should; _that's_ definitely not a normal thing to do, but then who _wouldn't_ be staring at eddy chen? he's too magnetic a personality, too enticing a—wait. _wait._

does that mean that—that he—

"n-no," he stutters in reply; when it comes to denials, that would have to be the most pathetic attempt in the world. cynthia looks unimpressed, but brett barrels on. "i mean—i like him as a musician, as a person, as a," he cuts himself off there; he had been about to say _friend_ , but the evidence speaks against him, now that's he actually giving some thought to it.

so—that—he actually does— _like_ likeeddy?

"right, and i'm actually yo-yo ma playing dress up," cynthia deadpans, fluttering her pink nails at him. "you can't be this obtuse, can you? or are you deliberately messing with me?"

"no, no, i'm—just surprised, is all," brett finishes lamely, his gaze falling down on his half-eaten salad. he imagines the lettuce looks back at him blankly.

okay, so _fine_. maybe he _does_ like eddy chen, but so what? it doesn't have to change anything. it's not like this teeniest hint of a crush is going anywhere, anyway. eddy chen is leagues above brett yang, and that's a fact that's never going to change any time soon.

after a few beats of silence, he shrugs wordlessly, begins digging into his food again to finish it up and head back to the concert hall.

cynthia looks at him in mild disbelief. "we're not talking about this?" she demands, and brett shakes his head in response. "ah—well, okay. suit yourself." the cellist grumbles more words his ears don't quite catch, but the moment has passed: it's time to get their heads back in the game and focus on their jobs.

this whole _thing_ can be better absorbed later. he has other things to worry about right now.

• • •

brett's _not_ avoiding eddy chen. nah, why would anyone think that? he's just—conveniently doing other things whenever the other comes within a twenty-feet radius of him, that's all.

the moment they finish a section and the conductor motions for a short break, brett feels eddy's gaze on him. he can't help it—he immediately bolts from his seat to make a show of heading over to the toilet. he doesn't quite run as he leaves the stage, but it's a near thing. 

brett times it just so that when he comes back, they're starting all over again, any opportunities for conversation lost to the wind. he takes care not to look too long or at all if he can help it, and it's then that he realizes just how much of a conscious choice it is _not_ to stare at his friend.

 _god,_ cynthia had been right. in hindsight, the knowledge is extremely embarrassing.

again after rehearsal, brett manages to dodge eddy's approach via a well-timed diversion with the giggly twins from the first violins, laughing along with one of their jokes as they move away to pack their instruments. as he puts away his violin in his case, he manages to sneak a glance at eddy out of the corner of his eye. the other man looks—a little lost. the uncertainty on his face doesn't suit him at all.

(brett chooses not to think that the expression might have something to do with him.)

"this is just sad to watch," murmurs cynthia as he passes by her, and brett pointedly ignores the comment. 

he's not avoiding eddy chen. he's just not prepared to interact with him right now.

(in the deepest recesses of his mind, brett knows they'll have to face each other again. it feels inevitable, as everything else involving eddy has so far. and when that happens—he doesn't quite know what he'll do.)


	19. chapter seventeen

it's the dead of night, the concert hall empty and deserted, and eddy's tiptoeing like a thief along the hallways with no small degree of hesitance.

he's never tried this before, but he supposes this is as good a time as any. rarely do they open the concert hall for midnight practices, but eddy had asked nicely, and the director had understood.

maybe he just wants a diversion, a distraction; might as well make it a productive one. he doesn't want to think about the trust he's been trying to wrangle hard-won from the orchestra, trying to remedy potential relationships turned sour by the explosive outburst he'd done. he doesn't want to think about how their music is finally as close to the notes in his head as it could be, but somehow more lifeless than ever.

(brett's been avoiding him. he doesn't want to think about that either.)

and so here he is, skulking about the empty corridors like a specter and trying not to wince at the loud squeaks his shoes are making. the silence is pervasive, all-encompassing in its presence—until it's not.

at first, eddy thinks he's hallucinating the faint sounds of the brahm's sonata emanating from the main auditorium, but no, no. he can never imagine playing it _that_ way: passionate, intimate, a hint of longing in those high notes. it enthralls him; his footfalls begin to slow, his heartbeat pulsing in time with the unspoken metronome.

he finally reaches the half-opened doors to the grand hall, and yes, _of course_ it is. there had been no other choice, really. it's brett yang, standing on the soloist's spot like he naturally belongs there even with the empty orchestra seats behind him, playing eddy's part like a virtuoso, and it's—

it's— _god_. it's _perfect_.

silent tears slip down unbidden from eddy's eyes, his cheeks warm and wet as he listens, laying down all other burdens at his feet in favor of absorbing the sounds ringing out across the hall like a thirsty sponge.

he loves the music, he really does. he's just can't remember the last time he'd been moved this much by it. all his life, he'd been taught to play to perfection, no missed note or nuance out of place, and now, he's somehow reached the point of _robotic, mechanical, unfeeling_.

 _this_ , however. this is what he's been striving towards but never quite reaching. the music eddy plays is perfect, to his own ears. it doesn't sound like the living, breathing beast of passion brett's coaxing from his instrument right now.

so spellbounded is he by the music, and by extension the violinist himself, that eddy absentmindedly leans against the door left ajar and it gives way under his weight, clattering harshly against the tiles. the sudden intrusion clashes against the performance, and _oh my god,_ eddy's a clumsy idiot.

brett whirls his head around to look at him so fast, eddy's distantly worried he'll get whiplash. "o-oh," the shorter man stutters, quickly moving away from eddy's usual spot. "sorry, i was just—"

"no, it's," eddy raises up his hands to placate the other, "it's fine. i just—didn't expect you to be here." _god_ , he's not complaining, though.

brett squints at him with a hint of suspicion. "why are _you_ here?"

"solo rehearsal. you?"

"same," brett replies, shrugging.

coinciding midnight rehearsals? if eddy hadn't known any better, he would have thought this a ploy to get the concertmaster and the soloist to sync up again before their cold war starts to affect the orchestra's harmony. not that eddy's protesting; he wants that too.

"playing the soloist's part, though?" eddy tries his very best to make it light, friendly, and teasing, but it falls flat under brett's somber gaze.

"i just wanted to see how you saw it," the other man explains, like he hadn't just flipped eddy's worldview on its head with his music. "hear how you heard it." brett looks away, and something in eddy's chest cracks like a fishbone. "that's all."

 _god_ , this man. how is he even real?

"i'm sorry." the words spill out of eddy's mouth without prompting, falling at brett's feet like scattered autumn leaves. "i never got to apologize for shouting at you last time and for all those stupid things i said." his voice shakes minutely, but he continues on. he has to get this _right_. "i was wrong, and you were trying to help, and—yeah. i'm trying my best to be better now, i really am. i'm sorry."

brett looks at him from under the veil of his bangs for a long time, and then offers a faint smile. "thanks," he replies softly. eddy's not looking to end the conversation like _that_ , though; he wants his friend back.

and so he continues. "i was a dummy."

"you were."

"i was such an idiot."

"you were."

a dramatic pause. "you're not being very charitable; please stop me from verbally degrading myself."

at last, brett snorts, his lips tugging into a grin. "everything you're saying's true, though."

that sight of that smile never fails to unsettle him, leaving him on unsteady ground. eddy moves closer, gently nudges brett's bow arm. "let me make it up to you again, your majesty."

a beat of silence, and then: "you owe me so goddamn much, peasant." brett looks at him haughtily, but the curve of his mouth is sincere. "just be grateful emperor yang is endlessly forgiving."

there are no words for the giant rush of relief that sweeps through eddy's chest like a tidal wave. they smile together in silence for a while, relearning how to act naturally around the other once again, and then he makes his request.

"could you—maybe play again?" eddy quietly moves to position himself in the concertmaster's seat, placing down his violin case and taking out his instrument. "i'll accompany you."

brett raises an eyebrow, confusion tinting his gaze. "shouldn't we be practicing the other way around, though?"

"nothing wrong with a little change of perspective every now and then," eddy replies, all too casually. "please?"

his friend, bless his soul, obliges him. they begin to play, and for a brief moment, eddy sees the twinkle of stage lights, the sea of the audience stretching out and filling the seats of the hall, the orchestra moving and breathing to brett's every whim, not as concertmaster but as the—

an idea takes root in eddy's mind, wild and almost unheard of, but it completely makes sense. he's going to right a wrong, and nothing is going to stop him from doing so.

_no distractions, eddy._

_no, no_ , he tells the voice, finally silencing it for good, _this one is a necessary one_.


	20. chapter eighteen

it's been a few days, and brett still thinks of that night rehearsal in the concert hall. he reckons he'll always think of that night as a comfort of sorts, whenever the going gets tough for him in the times ahead.

mostly, he thinks he'll always remember that night for eddy chen. 

he'd seen the aftermath of eddy chen crying. he hadn't commented on it, but the dried tear tracks—possibly, hastily wiped away in the hopes brett wouldn't notice them—had still been all too visible on the taller man's skin. his eyes had been tinged red, too; there had been no other explanation as to why. but then—that's just it: _why?_

he'd played with eddy chen, just the two of them, for the very first time. it's almost unbelievable, how easily and how _magnificently_ they blended together, but really, he'd almost expected it, in a way. they compliment each other as individuals, as friends; of course they're going to meld together in their music. it had been a bit strange, playing eddy's part and vice versa, but they'd made it work.

he can't help himself: objectively, brett thinks it sounds _better_ that way. just a little bit. he's not saying he's better than eddy at playing brahms, but—well. you get the point.

"earth to brett yang, earth to brett yang," comes the sudden voice in his ear, and brett winces as cynthia lightly taps her knuckles against his skull, like knocking on a door that won't open. "is someone in there?"

"ah, sorry; i was just thinking something over."

she tilts her head at him, a questioning look in her eyes. "well, i sure hope it's the right bowing for this part, because your first violins have been walking around aimlessly for five minutes and they're annoying my cellos." she points towards the japanese twins making silly faces and squatting next to a mildly irritated man in the cello section, and okay, brett can see her point.

"sorry, sorry," he picks up his pencil and motions for the other musicians to get back to their seats in his section. "i'll get to it now."

as soon as brett lifts his hand to scribble annotations on the music sheet, the music director strides into the room, gaze locked on him. he doesn't mean to flinch at this realization, but he's not really looking to get scolded any time soon. has he done anything wrong recently—?

the director's voice is measured, giving nothing away as he speaks. "mister yang, i need you to join me and mister chen in my office, please."

as soon as the man's back is turned away to leave, cynthia whirls to brett with an incredulous raised eyebrow. "what did you two do now?" her gaze gets glassy as she meditates on the matter, and then: "did you two—"

" _no_ ," brett says immediately, because he now knows the cellist long enough to know exactly what she's about to say next, and _definitely not_. "whatever you're thinking, it's not that."

"oh? hey now, brett yang, what makes you think you know the inner workings of my mind?" cynthia smirks at him, and no, he doesn't have anything to say that won't sound incriminating. brett shrugs in reply and then hurriedly moves out of the room to whatever on earth he's going to face in the director's office.

if his heart's pounding wildly in his chest, well—that's just the coffee speaking.

• • •

"you boys are switching positions, effective immediately."

brett's mentally prepared himself for all sorts of possible confrontations, but _this_ is something he hadn't expected at all. for a whole minute, he simply stares blankly at the desk in front of him, mind whirring. 

he doesn't think he's heard that sentence right.

"i'm sorry," brett sneaks a look at eddy standing beside him, who is unreadable at this point, before he turns back to the music director, "what?"

"you heard me, mister yang." the conductor nods at him to punctuate the declaration. "you two are switching positions for this concert. you'll be our new soloist, while mister chen here will be taking your place as concertmaster. i imagine you're ready for the task, yes?"

 _i'm definitely not_ , brett thinks distantly; his mouth's opening and closing like a goldfish's jaw right now, for crying out loud. "i don't understand, i—" he looks over at eddy. the man's smiling slightly, what the hell. "what—i mean—how— _why_ , sir?"

the stuttering is so out of place, but thankfully, the director does not give it much attention, continuing onward without batting an eyelash. "it was mister chen's idea," the man waves a hand in eddy's direction, "and i deemed it agreeable. we've reviewed your performance in the auditions again, and this decision does indeed have reasonable sense to back it up." the man finally bursts into chuckles at the look on brett's face. he doesn't even wanna know what he looks like, right now. "i hope you're up for the challenge, unless you object to this decision?"

"i—" his breath catches in his throat. isn't this what he's wanted? isn't this what he's always dreamed of? it's on a silver platter right in front of him; shouldn't he take it with no hesitation?

brett looks to eddy, silent pleading in his eyes. the taller violinist smiles softly, jerks his head at the music director as if to say _take it; i don't mind._

and so brett does.

• • •

"what did you _do_?" he almost screams it at eddy, but thank god brett's self-preservation instincts lower it down to a violent whisper instead. "what was that back there?"

"nothing," the taller man shrugs all innocent-like, and _no no no_ , he's not getting out of this _that_ easily.

brett tries a different approach. "then _why_ did you," he cuts himself off, the words getting all tangled up in the net of his throat. he doesn't _understand_. "why did you do it?"

"well, sometimes, a peasant needs to know their place." eddy smiles at him, and _god_ , brett finally understands why he's always been a little breathless at the sight of it. "an emperor needs his crown, after all."

brett's shaking his head long before the other man gets to finish his sentence. it doesn't make sense, this whole thing, and it's driving him insane. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"it means," eddy places a hand on his shoulder, and brett's never imagined that keeping himself from shaking at a simple touch would be difficult, but here he is, "that you're finally right where you belong, and thank god for that. i'm correcting a wrong, you know. i finally got you right where you're supposed to be, on that stage."

 _god, you've got me,_ brett thinks frantically, desperately _, and you don't even know it._

with that parting shot and one last grin, eddy leaves, taking brett's heart and hopes with him. the man should be tagged _illegal_ , really.


	21. interlude - the music director

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i screwed up and skipped this chapter while posting aughh my apologies >_<

if there is any reason as to why the music director had made this almost unthinkable choice— _weeks into the rehearsals, and he'd swapped his soloist for his concertmaster? is he insane?_ —he would tell anyone who would listen that it had been because he had seen something remarkable, and that's saying something.

see here—he's an old soul. he's seen many musicians come and go in the decades he's stood as the one guiding the musical direction of the orchestra, but never in all his years has he ever faced such a peculiar scenario as a musician asking—no, _begging_ —to switch positions with another musician, much less an infamous one like eddy chen. and yet there they had been, the violinist storming into his office the very morning after he had requested for a night rehearsal, the query spilling out of his mouth like he can't hold it in.

 _please_ , his soloist had pleaded, _consider brett yang in my place instead. he's_ — _he's_ —

and then eddy had trailed off, cheeks flushed but stance resolute. by then, the music director had already decided to say yes.

there had been a glint in eddy's gaze, a spark of feeling where there had once been none before. that had been the first time he'd seen the ice prince thaw, and it's there that he had known: something had changed the young man, and it had everything to do with his concertmaster.

and so he allows it. makes the decision, much to eddy's resounding disbelief.

well. never let it be said that he is not one to be a patron of the unexpected. it's about time the classical music world sees some of _that_.


	22. chapter nineteen

despite the churning feeling that sits in his gut after a few days—he had basically sacrificed his own dream to become a soloist at the altar of brett yang and the _everything_ that he is—eddy's actually enjoying himself.

it's altogether different from this viewpoint: seated in the midst of the orchestra, no longer the driving force of the music but an accompanying voice. eddy finds he doesn't mind, in the end; that's what really catches him off guard. he'd never thought he'd find the role of concertmaster far more interesting than that of the soloist, but here he is. life is infinitely strange like that.

after a while of proving himself a diligent work in progress in the attitude department, his fellow musicians begin to considerably warm up to him. the twins are among the first to welcome them into their fold, teaching him the japanese words for _ice prince_ , which is totally uncalled for, by the way. cynthia winks at him from across the distance every time he accidentally locks eyes with her during the development. martin introduces him to the rest of the winds section and the shifty-eyed guy who plays the triangle.

but always, always: the sight of brett yang standing where eddy had once stood never fails to leave him a little breathless. but, you know, not in a strange way. anyone else would feel the same thing too, he thinks.

his friend takes to the soloist part like a duck to water; eddy had expected as much, but it had been nice to see his theory flourish right before his very eyes, where he can admire the fruit of his labor. just as he'd predicted, brett is a force to contend with on stage: all raw passion stirred up in a whirlwind of virtuosic talent. it would make eddy jealous if he hadn't already been so enthralled with the way the other man plays.

"wonderful, mister yang," the conductor crows after they finish the second movement, and brett offers a humbled smile in return. the orchestra shifts to continue on to the third movement, but there is enough of a lull in the air that eddy knows what is about to happen. 

brett turns his head to the right, eyes wandering in an absentminded way that could fool anyone but those who know him most, and glances at eddy. their gazes meet, and _then_ the strangest expression descends on his face before he turns away again. 

so okay, there's another thing that eddy's noticed: brett looks to him every time he finishes playing a part without fail, and then turns away before the taller man can so much as blink back at him.

eddy doesn't really know why.

(the very thing itself causes a peculiar tug in his chest. he doesn't really know why either.) 

• • •

"so, i was wondering," brett begins, twirling a french fry around his fingers, "when you'll be free for dinner."

eddy's straw pauses halfway to his mouth in midair as he stares in confusion. in the hustle and bustle of the fast food lunchtime rush hour, he doesn't think he's heard that properly. "sorry—dinner? what dinner?" had there been an event he hadn't heard about? he doesn't think he's missed any reminders, so what could brett possibly mean by that?

— _like a dinner date?_

eddy shoos the traitorous thought away so fast, he subtly recoils in real life. where on earth had _that_ thing come from?

brett's looking at him like he's grown a third eye, and right, he probably deserves it for being overly dramatic. "like _dinner_ dinner," the shorter man continues after a brief moment of hesitation, and eddy pushes down the urge to smack his own forehead. _get ahold of yourself, man._ "the one i owed you from the first time we met, remember? or should i just retract it because you don't seem to—"

"oh, no no no, you are not getting out of it that easily," eddy laughs, steals a french fry from brett's pile in retaliation. "i was promised dinner, and i'm getting dinner. your knight in shining armor deserves one, your majesty."

brett bursts into startled laughter at that, the hot afternoon sunshine catching in his eyes, and eddy thinks he's never seen a more luminous creature in his life. "yeah, yeah, i hear you. just let me know when we can go out—uh, together to eat?" brett trails off after that, looking away as his cheeks flush pink. must be the heat or something, eddy surmises. he should get his friend somewhere cold and indoors soon.

"yeah, i'll let you know, bro." he slurps down the last drop of his soda before nudging brett's arm. "we should get going, come on."

eddy slings an arm over brett's shoulder as they leave the premises: blissfully unaware of the effect he has on his friend, all too aware of his concern over his friend's wellbeing.

(something's got to give soon, pushing at the chinks in eddy's armor. he's still too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the heart trembling in his chest.)


	23. chapter twenty

brett feels as if he's flying a lot, nowadays.

ever since the switch, he's been driving himself further and higher when it comes to his musicality and his skill. he's long understood that the role of a soloist demands more from a musician, but he's never thought about actually getting that role ever. it's his lifelong dream, sure, but it's always been a distant kind of one. now that he'd gotten the role, brett had spent more than a few frenzied hours of practice time to make sure he doesn't embarrass himself in front of the whole orchestra, not to mention the director and _eddy freaking chen,_ who had thrown him up here in the first place.

but the funny thing is, come rehearsals—he actually _doesn't_ mess up.

he's doing good, he's doing great, and so maybe it's that little boost of courage burning a bonfire flame in him that spurs brett on to ask eddy out to the dinner he's promised him from the start.

okay, first of all: it's technically _not_ a date. a date involves participants who have the potential to be romantically involved over the course of their engagement with each other, or whatever. brett's pretty engaged with eddy, he supposes, but _romantic involvement?_ he might as well sprout wings and fly before that ever happens, any wishful thinking on his part aside.

and really, there's a whole mountain of wishful thinking on his part, to be honest. still—eddy chen is miles above brett yang's league. he's got an honest-to-god growing _fanbase_ within the orchestra, for crying out loud; ever since eddy had landed on the concertmaster's chair, he's started courting everyone's favor to try and turn his reputation back around, and it's somehow working. people are finally noticing what brett's been seeing in his friend all along, and wow, it shouldn't feel this good and this painful to see it happening before his very eyes, but it somehow does, and it's weird.

brett's not an idiot, though; he's self-aware about his own feelings, so he knows why. it's just that—well. okay, so maybe he _is_ an idiot.

nevertheless, he _does_ take his friend to dinner, because he had promised, and brett yang is not one to go back on his promises, no matter the ache that sparks up in his chest, the longing behind his ribcage.

if he's gotten a little more melancholic nowadays, then it's probably just all for the best: at least his playing's getting better. brahms could use a little more _heartsick_.

• • •

so they go on that dinner—which is basically just a simple meal at the local 90's diner, because brett is _still_ kinda broke, and he is _not_ letting his companion pay a single cent for the food, _no thank you, eddy_ —and it feels natural, and fun, and _not at all like a date, shut up brain_.

upon taking their order, the waitress immediately mistakes it as such, though. brett wants to sink into the ground, but the floor remains irritatingly solid. damn it.

"oh—no, i, uh," he sneaks a look at the man sitting opposite him who's smirking like it doesn't faze him in the slightest, and _ouch_ , no, wait, that hurts, "we're not _together_ together."

"don't believe him, ma'am; he's just shy," interjects eddy, grabbing his hand out of nowhere and entwining their fingers together, their pinkies interlocked, and _what the hell_ —

scratch that thing about having a crush on eddy chen. brett is going to _kill_ him.

he levels a flustered glare in his friend's direction and tries to pull his hand away, to no avail; eddy's grip is firm. out of the corner of his eye, he notices the waitress is watching them with barely-concealed amusement. "it's alright, boys," she tells them with a motherly gaze, "you don't have to hide it. you can still avail of the couple's freebie, too! i'll just jot that down, shall i?"

 _oh._ so that's what this is all about. brett stares at the woman's retreating figure as eddy gently disentangles their hands. "what, didn't you see the sign?" eddy points towards the aforementioned poster. "i'm sorry, though, if that was too much for you. should've asked beforehand." he pouts, and brett is half-tempted to sue him for misconduct in public. that face is, again, _illegal_. "at least i got us that coffee cake for free! i mean—didn't you say you liked coffee? not as much as bubble tea, i know, but close. i just thought you'd enjoy it." 

it's sad that eddy's words both warm his heart and strangle it. brett's too tired to fight the wave of emotion sweeping over him, and so he lets it. "yeah, thanks, man. smart thinking."

eddy beams, and yes, brett's _definitely_ an idiot, but not as much as the object of his affections.

• • •

the other man offers to walk him home again.

"that was great," eddy pats his belly as they stroll side by side down the sidewalk, under the lowlight of the streetlamps. "thanks, man. my stomach and i appreciate you."

"no problem," brett laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "it'll be your turn next time, don't forget. i expect fancier stuff from you."

"huh? _excusez-moi_?" the taller violinist places a hand over his chest, gasping exaggeratedly. "did you forget you owe me for the little favor i did? oh, what little compassion i receive from—"

brett playfully shoves at eddy's shoulder, receiving a soft jab to the gut in retaliation. "low blow, dude!"

"i was kidding!"

"it sounded pretty sincere," he replies, smothering his laughs with a hand. eddy smiles down at him, stars twinkling above like a halo around his head, and _god_ , he's so thankful he's met eddy chen. "you never really told me why you did that."

"didn't i? i'm pretty sure i did."

"yeah, but that answer was so opaque, i might as well be talking to a wall."

eddy slings his arm around his shoulder again, as easy as pie, just as they round the corner to his apartment block, and brett's just about ready to combust. who ever said this man was an ice prince? he's so comfortably _tactile_ , like he's been touch-starved or something. "i figured i'd correct a mistake, really. i thought i'd do well as the soloist, but it turns out you're more worthy of that position. so i asked the director to switch us up, and he agreed."

brett—doesn't even know what to say to that. "even this late into the concert season?"

"never let it be said that i am not an opportunist." they reach the entryway, and this time, eddy helps brett out in opening the jammed door. once it gives way, the taller man continues his spiel. "case in point: tonight. thank you for your time, your majesty." eddy sweeps his hand down, bends in a low gentleman's bow before straightening up with a grin. "i'll bring you a proper feast next time. see you tomorrow, hey?" he salutes his friend, and then walks away into the night. 

brett closes the door, stands silently for a moment, then turns around and slumps down against the wood.

it takes a few more minutes to get his heart steadily beating in time again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i skipped a chapter while posting (interlude - the music director), so as compensation, i'm posting _two_ chapters today! <3


	24. chapter twenty one

days fly by like blown leaves in the wind, and sure enough, the concert season is upon them.

the opening night of the concert is star-studded and bright: a black-tie event with the lobby decked out in full opulent regalia. eddy doesn't think he's ever seen so many sparkly things in one place at one time; he has the feeling his eyes will degrade the longer he tries to stay in the foyer and mingle with people, like what cynthia's doing right now.

so, being logical, he does the next best possible move: he flees to the depths of the concert hall in search of his soloist friend. 

eddy steps up beside brett where the man stands by the wings backstage, eyes fixed on the rapidly-filling seats in the audience, the empty chairs onstage ready for the orchestra to occupy. they gaze in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, until brett finally speaks up. "well, here we are."

"here we are," eddy agrees, nudging his friend's shoulder with his own. the other man's skin looks way too pale to be healthy, and a flicker of concern flares up in his gut at the sight. "seems like a full house tonight, yeah? you ready for this?"

brett laughs anyway, his voice a little shaky. "oh my god—i'll never feel like i'm ready _ever_ , but i just gotta do it, hey?"

"hmmh, dressed like that, you're not." eddy reaches out unbidden, hand moving on its own accord, to straighten up the crooked bow tie at his friend's neck. their eyes meet, the air charged and heavy and warm between them, and for some inexplicable reason, eddy's throat grows dry, his heart thundering loud in his ears.

_i'm so happy i'm here tonight, but i'm happier knowing you're here with me too._

brett blinks at him all wide-eyed for a second, and then breaks into a small grin. "thank you for this again, whatever crazy thing you did to get the director to switch us up. i can't thank you enough, really. it should be you on that stage, but for some god-only-knows-what reason—you chose to give your spot to me." the shorter man huffs a disbelieving breath, shakes his head as he stares up at eddy with a look of wonderment. "i mean, you gotta know—you're amazing, man."

eddy feels unsettled, like his insides got stirred around by a blender, but he manages to return the smile. "thanks, bro. it was my pleasure; no need to thank me." in the intimate lowlight of the room, brett's mouth looks a little bit too lip-bitten red, and _no no no_ , _stop thinking about colors or facial features, idiot!_

eddy clears his throat, flings his hand in the direction of the musicians gathering around the area. "shall we, your majesty?"

"yeah," brett smiles up at him, "i'll see you at intermission, bro." he walks away somewhere out of sight, leaving eddy five seconds away from collapsing against the wall like he's run a marathon.

_god, what a mess you're in, huh, eddy chen?_

• • •

everything happens fast—all too soon, the time has come for the concert to begin. eddy walks on, head held high and back straight, confident as he leads the orchestra through tuning. the conductor enters, followed by their soloist, and for the first time that night, the hall breaks into thunderous applause.

after he shakes the conductor's hand, brett then moves to shake eddy's hand with a smile. the very second their fingers touch, the taller man jolts minutely, sparks tingling against his skin. they've held hands before, eddy himself initiating that particular moment in the diner, so what's so different about this one?

before he can try to reflect on the matter, the other man turns away, bows to the audience, and then goes to stand on the soloist's spot.

after that, the world falls away, and there is nothing left but the music.

it's as if bodily instinct—like second nature—the way the orchestra moves and breathes around the music they coax from their respective instruments, and yes, eddy already knows by now what a tragic mistake he's made before, thinking his fellow musicians weren't good enough to be on par with whatever ridiculous expectations he once had. he knows better now, and so he plays with a full heart and a calm mind: safe in the knowledge that they're all working together as one unit, and they're working together _spectacularly._

but really, for the most part, eddy watches brett soar on eagle's wings throughout the performance, outlined by stage lights like twinkling stars just as he'd envisioned his friend during their night rehearsal, and really, he has to pat himself on the back for that. his imagination hadn't failed him with this—brett _does_ looks damn good under the limelight.

they blaze through the piece as an impassioned creature, every note played with emotion and expertise. conductor and soloist and orchestra move in tandem: synchronized and playing off each other, like gears in a well-oiled machine.

all in all, eddy thinks they would've made brahms himself proud. not that he's bragging or anything, but—well, okay, _fine,_ maybe he's bragging a little bit. so sue him.

the music ends on that last triumphant, drawn-out chord, and there is stunned silence for a while before the riotous applause as the audience gives them a standing ovation. eddy would've given them more attention, but his focus has narrowed to the soloist walking towards him after shaking hands with the conductor once more. brett offers his hand for him to shake again, and this time, eddy doesn't hesitate: he wraps his fingers tightly around the smaller hand, squeezes it tight as he mouths _you were amazing_ at his friend. 

it must be a trick of the light or something, but brett's cheeks color as he looks up at him. nevertheless, he grins, squeezing eddy's hand back and nodding firmly in recognition of the praise. the soloist and the conductor bow before the clapping audience, and then they sweep past the orchestra to leave the stage.

from across the distance, cynthia discreetly shoots him a thumbs up behind her cello. eddy rolls his eyes, but he gives her one back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hilary hahn's brahms, for listening.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFl9xuYP5T8)


	25. chapter twenty two

"you could try being a _little_ less obvious, you know that?"

brett wrenches his gaze away from the firm line of his concertmaster's shoulders and meets cynthia's amused, knowing eyes. and yeah, well, of _course_ , he's not surprised—she of all people would know exactly what he's doing. he's not about to give ground that easily, however. "sorry, what?"

"not very subtle, mister yang," she smirks, wiggling her perfectly manicured eyebrows at him. "you're like—ten seconds away from climbing him like a tree. turn your heart eyes elsewhere, please, for the sake of our virgin eyeballs."

" _cynthia, oh my god_ ," brett hisses, turning his head left and right to see whether someone had heard those words. after making sure the coast is clear, he grimaces at her. "you're crazy."

the blonde giggles, forms the peace sign with her free hand. "and you're the one pining away in silence, so i guess we're pretty even, huh?"

brett sighs, shaking his head as he moves to observe the sea of people around the lobby once more, half-hidden behind the potted plant he and cynthia have chosen to stand next to. he's not used to grandiose events like this opening night, fluttering around amongst the wealthy and elite of the city. he's a simple man; what can he say? what had been in the forefront of his mind all evening, aside from the persistent mental presence of one eddy chen, had really only been the music.

and _god_ , what a dazzling dream the concert had been.

in the throes of frenzied notes and unleashed passion, brett had felt a little bit of what icarus must've felt: flying close to the sun and burning up in its intense warmth. he has things better than icarus, though—he has a brilliant conductor to follow and a fantastic orchestra to back him up. it had almost unnerved him, how easy it had been to streak through the whole concerto without once faltering. he hadn't thought it possible, once upon a time, but here he is: congratulated and admired for what's been hailed as a stunning performance of the brahms. 

the calm in the midst of the storm had been his concertmaster, of course. every time brett had the opportunity, he always, _always_ turns to his friend to steady him. he doesn't think eddy had been aware of all the staring he'd been making, so he'll count that as a win on his part. 

brett had even gotten to hold eddy's hand again, and twice—which, okay, is pretty tame and all, but he's not denying the fact that it had made him just the _teensiest_ bit happy. just a teensy bit. _moving on_.

and so in the aftermath of the concert, they've been tossed out into the fray of their adoring audience, and brett's eyes had immediately latched on to the one person in the glittering maelstrom who knows him best. and he's subsequently lost himself in eddy chen's charms, easy as that: again and again, like so many times before.

"how is he so good at this?" he asks cynthia, watching as the tall violinist moves around the room with an easy grace to his steps, on his lips a polite smile so convincing that it's almost unthinkable to call this man an ice prince. the music director looks on proudly from eddy's side as they parade through the crowd, no doubt trying to court more patrons to support the arts.

"brett, you're forgetting he's one of them," the cellist replies, sipping from her champagne glass as she follows brett's unerring gaze. "i mean, i forget too, sometimes, but really, eddy chen is just—wow. he's so far above our level, it's insane."

what a great way to encourage brett, that.

but there's no time to mope over their differences, anyway—eddy's coming over towards them, and _oh my god, now is not the right time to get a heart attack over his damned good looks,_ _brett yang._

"hey," eddy smiles, and brett's consciousness takes another mental tumble into the nether pit. "i finally got away from all the wolves." 

"ohoho! hey yourself, mister chen." cynthia grins widely at him in greeting, and strangely enough, eddy responds with an amused smile of his own. brett's half-tempted to raise an eyebrow at the sight. "we did super awesome, didn't we?"

"yeah, we did," the taller man says, looking over to brett with warm eyes, "and it's all thanks to our amazing soloist, of course."

life continues to be unfair to brett yang: he just barely manages to stutter out his reply. "aw, come on, man, you know i can't take all the credit."

"that's true, but like, _duh_ , you were pretty much the star of the show, knucklehead," cynthia laughs, raising her glass to give him a tiny salute.

"she's right, yeah?" eddy curls his arm around his shoulders again, warmth seeping in even through thick layers of suit, and really, brett's not prepared for this, but he'll take it. "we did good, but you did _great_. i mean, come on, that was just—amazing. the director made the right choice, switching us around. i could never have done what you did in a million years."

brett and eddy stand there for a moment, quietly smiling at each other, before the taller violinist suddenly jolts, quietly removing his arm as if he had forgotten he had left it hanging around brett's shoulder. cynthia's eyebrows climb to her hairline, but she doesn't comment, and _thank god for small mercies_ , brett thinks.

the crowd hushes around them for a brief moment. a regal woman clothed in shimmering dark approaches, graying head held high as she comes to a halt in front of them. brett doesn't realize that the tall man standing beside him has become unnaturally still.

"ah, you must be brett yang," the woman begins, voice creaking with age but poised as she extends a gloved hand to firmly shake his own. "i enjoyed your performance very much. looking forward to see you grace the stage in future concerts, eh?"

"oh, uh—yes, ma'am, i hope i could," brett replies, suddenly nervous. she is very obviously a wealthy individual, judging by her confident stance and impeccable appearance alone. her eyes make it feel as if any mistake made around her will be observed and dealt with all too swiftly, and it's kinda terrifying, if he's honest. "thank you, ma'am."

the woman smiles nevertheless, and then her gaze flickers to brett's concertmaster. "eddy chen." the spoken name alone bears weight. "i've heard about you two switching positions; it's become a rather infamous choice on the part of the esteemed director. how did that come about? i was wondering if any of you knew."

"well, ma'am, actually," brett glances at cynthia, who's gaping open-mouthed like a goldfish, and eddy, who looks back at him with unreadable eyes, before he answers. "it was the director's choice, but mister chen came up with the idea, and i'm still so thankful for it. i wouldn't have gotten this opportunity without him."

"oh? is that so?" her smile turns sharp for a flickering second—or maybe not? brett isn't quite sure. "very interesting." the woman hums in thought, and then nods at the three of them. "once again, a marvelous performance. thank you." and with that, she strolls away, leaving silence in her wake.

 _okay, that was weird._ "what was that about?" confused, brett turns over to look at his friend—and then falters. he sees what he thinks is _fear_ , in those dark eyes.

"excuse me," eddy mumbles, the words suddenly tumbling from his lips, and he suddenly leaves the premises, disappearing into the crowd. brett blinks in the invisible dust of his departure, a sinking feeling in his chest, and so he turns to his other companion for answers, anything at all.

"what—what just happened?"

cynthia finally shuts her mouth and shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed as she stares at the empty spot where eddy had been standing a few seconds ago. "i dunno, but like, i'm pretty sure that was elizabeth chen? y'know—eddy's mom?"


	26. chapter twenty three

it's as if the world has caved in on itself.

eddy stumbles into the dimly-lit restroom, blindly scrambling for the lock on the door before he sinks to his knees, thoroughly spent. there is a wild and wretched storm brewing behind the cage of his ribs, untameable gale winds whipping through the shattered pieces of his composure.

he feels shaky. he feels numb. he should've moved past this ages ago, but _god_ —he hasn't. he _hasn't_.

she had never gone to any of his concerts before, not even once. she had never even bothered to see her son for years before now. eddy had carved a life out for himself here: a lonely and frigid life for the most part, but a _free_ life nonetheless. why on earth would she come to see him now?

_no distractions, eddy._

the mental voice once thought banished to the ether—startlingly feminine, startlingly familiar—returns with ruthless vengeance. he buries his head in his hands; it's all eddy can do to keep himself from tearing his own hair out.

_—nothing but weaknesses._

he does not allow the mental images those words bring to flood his senses and keep him captive, but it's a near thing. he's bested this beast once; he can do it again.

_didn't i tell you—?_

"eddy?"

the sudden voice jolts him out of the internal whirlwind, but then the surprise is quickly overshadowed by overwhelming dread. of all the people who could've followed him, it's the one person that he—that he wants to—that he's trying to make a good impression on.

eddy cares about brett's opinion of him. brett shouldn't be seeing him this low in the dirt.

the door creaks threateningly, a small sliver of light streaming in from the opening brett's pushing through, but eddy shoves his own body back against the doorframe, slamming it back shut. "don't come in here," he gasps, and already, his voice is a mere shadow of itself.

"please," eddy begs—and hopes that will be enough.

there is a silence for a moment. he would've thought brett had left him there, but there are no receding footsteps. damn it _all_. "does this have anything to do with your mother walking around the lobby right now?"

a shaky laugh tinged with desperation claws its way up his throat. he doesn't want brett to see him like this. and—if he has to resort to hurt like he has so many times before, then he will.

eddy's no stranger to being hated, anyway.

"maybe? i don't know? god, can't you just leave it well enough alone?" he slams a fist against the door, listens to the way brett audibly flinches on the other side of the barrier. "go away, brett. i don't want you here."

there. that should do it. eddy waits for the inevitable harsh retort and departure—that doesn't come. there's another moment of silence instead, the faint scuffling of polished shoes against floor tiles, and then: "you don't mean that."

truth be told, he's flummoxed. _why isn't he leaving?_ maybe eddy should be trying harder. "i do, okay? can't you understand that i—"

brett cuts him off, tone low and measured. "i know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work." the door creaks again, like the man on the other side had placed his weight against it. "not this time."

those words, gentle as they are uttered, make his eyes water. _god_ , will wonders never cease where brett yang is concerned?

anything eddy has to say dries up in his throat, nowhere to be seen. all he can do is cling to the faint grooves of the wooden doorway and try his best not to fall apart where he stands.

when the next words come, they continue to be gentle, coaxing. "let me help you, eddy. please. that's all i want."

_no distractions—_

"let me in," brett whispers from the other side, and for a brief fanciful moment, eddy imagines the other man leaning his forehead against the door, against the exact place eddy's tilting his own head towards. without this barrier between them, they'd be touching. the thought makes something in his chest ache all too acutely. "p-please?"

despite his earlier resolution not to let brett see him in this pathetic state, eddy hates the way his friend sounds: so unsure of himself, nothing like the confident leader he knows him to be. above all else, maybe—maybe he just _wants_ to let go and trust that he'll be caught safe and sound. just for a while. he wants to be weak with someone who'll be there for him, give him strength. maybe—maybe that person is on the other side of the door right then and there.

eddy feels his resolve waver, and then finally give way.

he can trust brett yang with his life, he knows this. he'll find out whether he can trust brett yang with his heart.

(the door opens, and a flame shines in the dark places where no light had once touched before.)


	27. chapter twenty four

the door opens, slowly but surely, and with it, a dam breaks in brett's chest, his mind flooding with sudden, aching _relief_.

eddy hadn't continued to push him away. brett himself had stood resolute and unyielding, against all odds. and finally, most importantly: eddy's letting him in.

it's with this one heady thought in mind that brett readies himself for this battle, whatever the unseen enemy may be. he's stepping into unknown territory at this point; all he knows is that elizabeth chen's presence is causing his friend pain, but he'll be here. whatever eddy needs.

no matter the mental acrobatics he's employed to ready himself, brett is woefully unprepared for the sight of eddy chen trembling against the wall: a man beaten black and blue. his face—once cold, once proud—is now ashen, pale, thoroughly devastated. brett just barely stops himself from reaching out and wiping away the tears staining his friend's skin; he doesn't think he'll be welcome.

despite the stiffness of his starched suit, brett manages to fold his limbs to sit cross-legged, the restroom tiles cold under him. he's not about to complain, however.

he's quickly realizing he'd do anything for this man before him. it's a foregone conclusion, really.

it takes a few minutes of silence, from breath to bated breath, before eddy finally speaks. "my mother was a," he begins, voice uncertain, "very controlling woman. i didn't realize it at the time, but she was— very good at making me follow her will."

eddy closes his eyes, slides against the wall to slump down at the floor. "she made me endure things a child shouldn't have had to endure. mental things, punishing things. it messed with my mind a lot. it—well." a harsh sigh clatters between eddy's clenched teeth. "it messed _me_ up. i do deserve the whole ice prince thing; i know exactly where that's coming from."

brett shakes his head violently, trying to deny it, but the other man stops him with a pointed look, and _fine_ , yes, that's true to some degree. everyone had hated the ice prince persona, brett most of all probably. he'd wanted to strangle that guy, back then.

"i've made my peace with it, with everything she's done," eddy continues in a resigned way that makes it seem like he really means the exact opposite, "and i know i made it out of childhood _broken_ , but i—"

no, no, brett's not gonna have _any_ of that.

"you are _not_ broken, eddy," he interjects, furious on his friend's behalf. "come on—whatever you've been through, you've been trying your best to overcome it. that's not what it means to be broken." he has to dig eddy out of the mindset he'd adopted; he has to let eddy _see_. "you pieced yourself back together. you didn't let it get the best of you—"

"no, but i _almost_ did, hey?" a frustrated growl climbs out of eddy's throat, and he runs his fingers through his hair with viciousness. "my mother taught me that distractions are weaknesses, that perfection is worth more than friends or lovers or doing the honorable thing, and i almost—i almost let that mess with my life right now."

"how," brett asks, breathless, trying to keep up, but eddy continues, unrelenting.

"i almost let that screw up our friendship, and i—i don't know what i would've done if it had."

this time, brett has no words. is he hearing what he _thinks_ he's hearing? had eddy just—he'd thought that brett was—or is—a _distraction_?

_what does that even mean?_

"i just," eddy moves on, burying his face in his hands, "i don't know. i've been pushing people away because of—i've been alone for most of my life, and it's just—i'm not strong enough to think that it's anything other than _my_ fault for being weak."

with that declaration comes an aftermath of shattered silence. eddy looks away from brett's shocked gaze, no doubt thinking he's about to be hated or whatever sort of nonsense is going through the man's head, and _that's just not going to happen._

"i don't need to know what you've been through to know that it doesn't define you." brett doesn't think he'll ever really hear it from eddy's mouth, exactly, but it doesn't matter. "whatever wrong things you've been led to believe, you're trying not to follow them. you're trying to be better. sure, you're a work in progress, but you're _excelling_ at it. why do you think you've got a fan club now?"

that startles a shaky laugh out of eddy, but brett's not done yet. "i understand why you're hashing this out—you saw your mother, and you got reminded of whatever she did to you, and that made you panic and doubt yourself." he pins eddy down with his stare, willing him to listen to his next words. "but i'm sure you know, deep down, that no matter what your mother taught you, you've become better than that. you're a good man, eddy. you've got things worse than others, maybe, but you've also risen above whatever life threw at you. don't get tempted by some old mindset when what you are now is so much better than before. you're _amazing_. did i tell you that already?"

"you did," comes the faintly amused reply.

"well, let me tell you that again. you're amazing. you're kind. you're crazy enough to switch positions with me just because you thought it was a better choice. you're humble enough to back down and apologize when you're in the wrong. you're thoughtful enough to stop for a stranger at a bus stop and take care of him even when he couldn't pay you back yet."

_that's what made me fall in love with you._

brett gathers his courage, takes a leap.

"i don't think i'm," eddy sighs, but he's cut off by the sudden weight of brett flinging his arms around him: a full, enveloping embrace.

" _you_. you just shut up and listen to me for a bit."

the other man twitches, tries to pull away. "brett, i—"

brett shushes him, hugs him tighter. "no, you need to hear these words." the taller man finally stops squirming; he'd given in to brett's demands, _thank god_. he breathes in and out, long and deep, and then says: "you've always been stronger than this. you're not alone anymore. you're _enough_. please believe that." his hands find their rightful place—one protectively cradling eddy's back, the other caressing through eddy's hair. "don't let anyone tell you you're anything less than what you are. and what you are is hale and whole and the greatest man i've ever had the pleasure of knowing in this world. please—please believe me."

those are the truest words he's ever spoken.

after that, brett experiences everything all too acutely: eddy's tears seeping into the fabric of his dress shirt, eddy's fingers digging into his back like he'd die if he lets go, the muffled whimpers of a child who had been wronged and is only now just receiving healing.

he watches, he waits, and he _loves_.

after a while: "thank you, brett," comes the quiet whisper, tired and spent but brimming with emotion, " _thank you_."

and that's just— _god_.

what is absolutely devastating is that brett may have found the actual love of his life, and they're both sitting dirtied and tear-streaked on the floor of a backstage concert hall restroom, and he wouldn't trade this moment for any other thing in the world.

 _i love you_ , he thinks at eddy, as if the thought will somehow become tangible if he tries hard enough. _god, i love you._

as if on cue, there's audible voices in the distance, intruding on the moment and bringing them back to the reality of the here and now: it's the opening night of their concert, and there's still work to be done. brett pulls away slowly, lingering in eddy's warmth before he has to face the lonely cold again. "i think that's our signal to go." but he doesn't really _want_ to. what does that say about him, that he wants to stay there forever, suspended in time, keeping eddy safe in his arms so nothing else can hurt him anymore?

probably that brett's terribly in love, but he already knows that. he's in such deep trouble.

but: reality awaits. "so—shall we, then?"

eddy sniffs, pats down his suit jacket in a futile attempt at fixing himself up. "yeah." they wordlessly stand to their feet, looking at each other in the silence for a brief moment. "thank you again. emperor yang is a wise and kind friend to his subjects."

"shut up," brett replies with a helpless smile, delight sparking up his spine; eddy teasing him again means he's feeling better, and that's more than good news. "and you know you can call on me whenever you need."

eddy smiles, muted but _real_. "i'll remember that." he squeezes brett's hand, and this is where brett realizes that no, it doesn't seem like eddy's in any rush to let go any time soon.

it's not like _brett's_ in any rush to let go anyway, and so he doesn't. their fingers tangle together, and they hold tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas and happy holidays, everyone! may ling ling's blessing be with you all this holiday <3


	28. chapter twenty five

when he'd first left this place, eddy had thought he would never have to come back, not ever. even if the world were to fall around him, he'd promised himself he'd never go back.

and yet: here he is now.

eddy stands at the gates of his ancestral home, dressed to the nines and positively shaking in his polished shoes. he's not exactly here to impress _anyone_ —least of all his mother—but old habits die hard. he'd been trained to wear a suit or any variations thereof for almost every occasion, so it makes sense to wear one to this particular event. it's been years since the prodigal son that he is has returned to the nest, anyway.

if he's being honest with himself, eddy's only here on brett's behalf, so there's that. after everything that the other man has done for him since that night of his breakdown and all the days spent together in the orchestra and even reaching back to the very first time they've met, he's—he is—

he needs to stand on his own feet and do this.

and so eddy steels himself, enters through the gates and across the lawn, not one stray blade of grass out of place. even now, the ghost of _perfection_ haunts him, and how ironic is that? he shakes himself out of the dark cloud forming in his thoughts and continues on through the manor until he finds himself at elizabeth chen's study.

his mother looks elegant, poised—almost exactly the way eddy had left her in this house, all those years ago. it's as if he's stepped back into the past with an adult body and yet still with the mind of a scared child in the presence of a parental figure.

he can only hope he doesn't mess this up.

"ah, so i figured you'd come to me, darling," elizabeth says, her dainty, weathered hands placing the teacup back onto the saucer with nary a clatter. the endearment sends a phantom shiver of distress crawling up eddy's spine. "have you come to return to your mama's side?"

it takes him a while to get his mouth to work, but he does get there. "i'm sorry," he says, voice shaking despite his best efforts, and he's _sure_ his mother notices that flickering spark of weakness, "but i don't want to have anything to do with you, mother."

"yes, i figured that too." her sigh is resigned, for the most part. regardless, it does nothing to reassure eddy's stress levels. _god_ , this isn't going as well as he'd hoped when it comes to his sanity. "then why are you here, eddy?"

"i'm here to make sure you're not going to try any funny business with the director nor my colleagues."

her manicured eyebrows climb to her hairline at the statement. " _funny business_ , you say? whatever do you mean?"

the innocent mask on his mother's face is ironclad, but eddy knows her better than that. "i know you're pulling the strings behind everything i do. all those high positions freely given, all those opportunities at my doorstep." he crosses his arms over his chest, lips pulled downwards as he glances at elizabeth. "you've been spoonfeeding me every job i've ever come across. i don't need nor want your help, so please—stop the _funny business_ and leave my professional life alone." it's not the most eloquent of requests, but it'll have to do.

when he had been a child, eddy had likened his mother's gaze to that of a hawk's. he's certainly seeing the resemblance now, with her staring him down from where she sits on an armchair. after a while, whatever she's seen on his face smoothens her own. 

"you've grown into a most splendid young man all on your own, eddy." _what?_ eddy resists the urge to raise his eyebrows. had he heard that right? "it's a shame you haven't kept to the superior ways i've taught you, but nonetheless—you've grown. i'll honor your request, even if i personally feel that it is the wrong choice. i won't bother your precious orchestra nor the director, as you wish."

eddy can't believe it. he almost doesn't _want_ to believe it, with how incredulous he is. still: elizabeth awaits his answer, and so he says, "thank you, mother."

_no matter what your mother taught you, you've become better than that._

well, he can't help the smile that graces his mouth at the thought of those words now, can he?

eddy shifts his weight, looks hard at the floor for a moment before he says: "there's one other thing before i leave." elizabeth looks surprised at that; she probably thinks he'd been about to throw himself out of the house the very second he finishes his business here, but—well. 

there's one more thing he needs to tell her, from a son to his mother. out of respect, is all.

"mama," he says, voice soft and low and revealing, "i think i'm in love with a man." 

_and so there._

he lets the words hang in the stale air between them, not offering anything else for elizabeth to hear as he examines the way her eyelashes flutter, the way she doesn't manage to hide the way her face flinches at the declaration. "i just wanted to let you know," eddy says, nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders before turning away to walk towards the door. but then—

"is it brett yang?" the question stops him in his tracks, but he doesn't turn around to look at her anymore. that in itself speaks volumes as to his unspoken answer.

eddy doesn't let the words come tumbling out. when he first speaks that truth and make it concrete and audible and real—it's not for _her_ ears to hear.

"i see." a pause. "i wish you well, my son. you'll do great things, here onwards."

eddy breathes out a sigh of relief. _finally, finally,_ he's said his piece. "thank you, mama."

the reward's more than he could've ever hoped for.


	29. interlude - elizabeth chen

she had long known her son would outgrow her influence. it had only been a matter of _when_.

ever since eddy had fled the family home, elizabeth has adopted the habit of gazing at his childhood picture, a gangly boy framed in ornate wood on her nightstand. there, he is eternally youthful. there, he is forever under her wing.

perhaps she hasn't gone about it in the proper method, years in hindsight. she does not consider herself the best of mothers, but she has always believed that her way is the right way. perfection is to be sought, and in order to do this, there can be no distractions. she'd done her best to ingrain that on eddy as she raised him, and she had succeeded.

after what his father had done to him, elizabeth hadn't thought eddy would so easily change the mindset she had instilled in his brain.

but then he _has_. after two and a half decades of living in the path elizabeth had set out for him, eddy's finally chosen to stray from it. for _brett yang._

she doesn't know what to think of him. this strange, kaleidoscopic nobody shows up at the doorstep of eddy's life and jumbles it up, like a tornado. a force of nature, certainly; eddy had even seen fit to throw away the dream he's always had and offer it at the feet of his newfound—friend? with the way he had looked at the soloist that night of the opening concert, elizabeth isn't very surprised.

eddy has never been one for subtlety, in the face of his emotions.

and so when he tells her that he is in love with a man, there is no doubt in her mind that the man in question is brett yang. and in the light of eddy's request for her to stay away, to keep from meddling, there is absolutely nothing she can do to dissuade her son from this.

but: perhaps there is something there, something hopeful. she knows that eddy would have never set foot in her house again if not for brett's influence.

_i just wanted to let you know._

(she hasn't heard him call her _mama_ since the day he left home.)

and so for that reason alone, she'll allow eddy this, if nothing else. it's the very least she can do now.

she'll keep a close eye on the man, however, for her son's sake. just in case.


	30. chapter twenty six

as the days crawl on forward, unheeding of anything or anyone, brett's life transitions into some sort of casual normalcy. the hectic rush of the opening night and the first few days after, the slew of emotions upheaving his equilibrium in ways he hadn't been prepared for, half adrenaline and half worrying for eddy's sake: these have all simmered down into a quiet ache in his stomach, almost imperceptible. within the second week of the concert season, he feels as if he's been doing this soloist gig for years by now. _fancy that_.

so when it all comes down to this, not much as changed since then—except, of course, for the direction of his thoughts, the way his heart pounds louder, harder than before in the presence of the one it holds most dear.

being in love, brett realizes, changes everything _within_ and nothing _without_.

"watching you pine away is very excruciating, let me tell you."

he snaps out of his reverie, looking over to the blonde woman beside him and glaring at her. "you don't sound very supportive, cynthia."

"i'm being _very_ supportive, brett." the cellist wiggles her eyebrows at him. "anything to put you and i both out of this misery."

brett shakes his head at her, a sigh "come on," she says, nudging his arm with a butterfly-glitter-nail hand. "you should ask him out on a date."

he almost chokes on his own spit at the very suggestion she gives him. " _what_?"

"you do almost everything together at this point anyway," cynthia defends herself, "so there's no reason _why_ he'd reject you at all." she's not _wrong_ , per se, not about the first half. brett and eddy are almost inseparable nowadays: they eat together; they rehearse together; they even _shop_ together, which is entirely eddy's idea after the whole borrowing-a-suit thing from the opening night. cynthia's never gonna let brett live it down. but still—

"that doesn't mean anything." he tries not to frown at the words, but it's a lost cause when faced with the wingwoman queen herself.

"like hell it does," cynthia scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. " _honestly_ , brett—you might need better glasses to see the world with. he's into you as much as you're into him, so you gotta make a move, mister yang." she lowers her voice, conspiratorial as she continues: "before someone else snaps him up."

it's a testament to brett's frazzled mind that it's never occurred to him that eddy could possibly be interested in someone, whether in the orchestra or outside of it. but then: he remembers the fanclub, the once-dismissive eyes now adoring eddy's every step, the inquisitive and excitable looks, the whispers. and then: the cruel claws of insecurity find their way into his brain, digging deep to jab where it hurts the most.

"well, maybe he deserves that _someone else_. someone better, then," brett says, his eyes shuttered. of _course_ someone as amazing as eddy chen would need someone just as incredible as he is, on par with his level. he needs an equal, and brett is—well. he's certainly nowhere near anything like that. how could he ever have thought that he could possibly stand by eddy's side at all—?

"brett, wait," cynthia backpedals, smile melting off her face as his mouth tightens, but then the love of his life is suddenly _there_ right in front of him, and that's just—

it's all brett can do to stand his ground and not immediately run for the hills.

"i've come to take you away, emperor yang," eddy declares, an easy grin on his lips, sunshine in his eyes. _god_ , how is he even allowed to walk around in public like _that_? brett's a milisecond away from a panic attack at the sight of him, for crying out loud. "hey, cynthia."

"h-hey yourself, hotshot," cynthia fires back at the taller man almost on instinct, still visibly worried about her previous words, but brett offers her a mild smile. it's not really anything she should be anxious about.

"mind if i take brett out for lunch?" 

he firmly ignores the pointed look cynthia sends him before she responds to eddy in the affirmative. "i don't mind at all; go ahead, mister," she laughs, flapping her hands like a mother shooing away her offspring. "take care of him for me, will you?"

"always," eddy says, and brett tries his best not to fall head over heels for him again. 

(he fails, as is the norm.)

• • •

the dark cloud follows him to the artsy bistro eddy's seen fit to bring him to for lunch. no matter what he does to throw off the bad aura, brett's mind still lures him back to the mental pit, shackles of insecurity chaining him down.

"is something wrong?"

 _damn_ , now eddy can tell that he's dejected. "no, nothing," he says, smiling, hiding gritted teeth. he doesn't like lying to this man, but letting eddy know that he's the cause—both sickness and cure for the heart in brett's chest—is probably the worst idea in existence, _ever_. brett's skin crawls at the mere thought of it. there is _no way_ that's ever happening.

despite his best efforts, eddy still looks hesitant, and maybe that means something, that he can see through brett's attempts at covering up the issue. "you sure?" the other man reaches out, hand outstretched towards brett's forehead, perhaps to take his temperature—and he _panics_.

brett shrinks back, shying away from the potential touch. something withers in eddy's eyes.

 _oh, god._ "sorry, i—" brett cuts himself off, his eyes glued to the plate in front of him. "it's just been a really long day."

a few moments of silence. "gotcha," the other man says, all quietly and low. brett thinks that's the end of it when suddenly, the spiel continues. "you know, after what you did for me that night," eddy pauses, and it's then that brett chooses to look up, and it's then that his breath catches at the sight of warm, honest sincerity lingering in eddy's gaze. "you know you can tell me anything, right? anything at all. i'm here for you as you were for me." 

_you're not alone anymore._

"so if you're sad, i'm sad. if you're happy, i'm happy." eddy says it so matter-of-factly, like it's the cornerstone of his existence, and brett can't even begin to learn how to breathe normally again. "so yeah—let me cheer you up somehow?" 

and just like that, despite the doubt and the fear still curling insidiously in his gut, brett finds it all too easy to smile. it's the least he can do for this brilliant man before him; if eddy wants him to be okay, he can be okay. "yeah. you are, right now," brett says, turning his head to the side, suddenly bashful, "cheering me up. thanks, eddy. really."

"any time, your majesty." eddy tells him, and the world is bright again. just like that.

(the words are still locked away behind the prison bars of his teeth, but they are there. and they are waiting. _the right time._ )


	31. chapter twenty seven

eddy's floating on cloud nine. cloud _ten_ , even.

it's been two weeks since he'd broken down on opening night and gone to see his mother, and quite frankly, he's felt freer now than he's ever been his entire life, a heavy burden gone from his shoulders. he hasn't made mention of the visit to anyone else, but it's clear in the way he moves about, speaks around, that something's changed ever since, and all for the better.

he can only hope the others will approve. one particular violinist, most of all.

so, yeah, okay— _fine_. he hasn't told brett about the butterflies he lets loose in eddy's stomach every time eddy so much as _looks_ at him, but that's irrelevant for now. before he can even think about telling the other man about his feelings, eddy needs to sort things out within himself.

being in love: it isn't something new to him. he's fallen in love only once before, with an upperclassman prodigy back in the music conservatory. their relationship had been a strange one, though—it had seemed too much like a competition, a game they played between the two of them, and when she had graduated ahead of him, she had immediately left him behind.

when it comes to brett yang and everything that he is, however— _god_. loving him doesn't feel like a game at all.

the bottom line is: eddy _really_ doesn't want to screw things up just from the get-go, and so he'll bide his time. internalize, compartmentalize. make sure he's worthy of the man who's given him the will to become a better person.

 _are you sure that's why you'll wait? or are you just afraid of_ —

"hi, eddy!"

he jolts in his seat, startled. there's a short-haired woman peering down at him, stark red lipstick painted across her cupid's bow. he's momentarily distracted by the color that it takes him a few seconds to respond. "uh, yes? do you need something?"

"oh! sorry, i wasn't sure if you knew me," the woman smiles, extending her fingers out towards him, "but my name's amanda. i'm the violist sitting behind michelle."

he has no clue who on earth michelle is, but _she_ clearly thinks he does. might as well be vague enough to skip that whole thing altogether. "that's nice," eddy murmurs, shaking her offered hand, but then he realizes how dismissive _that_ sounds, and so he backpedals. "sorry, i mean—that's great! sorry, i didn't mean to—"

suddenly, amanda bursts out into laughter. "aw, they weren't kidding when they said you're an ice prince." she steps closer, a twinkle in her eyes, and _oh no._ eddy knows where this is going. "i wanted to ask if you'd be willing to have a coffee with me. please?"

he's gaping at her right now, eddy's sure of it. "i—i'm sorry, _what_?" he hadn't planned on stammering out the words, but they still trickle out like leaky tap water. this is bad; this is _really bad._

amanda seems unperturbed by his nervous fit, tilting her head as she gazes down at him with amusement. "i was wondering if you'd be willing to have a coffee with me after tonight's concert," she repeats her request, firm and unflinching.

 _oh my god._ judging by the interested glint in her eyes, she's looking to pursue something further with him, and despite what people may think about him being a cold ice prince, eddy isn't exactly well-versed in matters like this. no one had been willing to ask him out or anything before, so he's at a loss. he has to think of a way to let her down gently, but how on earth is he even supposed to—

as if on cue, brett materializes out of thin air with a wild look in his eyes, a deer caught in headlights, and it's a testament to how enamoured he is with brett that eddy's focus immediately zeroes in on the other man, even with a pretty woman standing right in front of him.

when amanda notices where he's looking at, she pivots to look at the man standing frozen in the middle of the hallway. with even more eyes and attention on him, brett pales, but then: "uh," he looks over his shoulder at someone unseen, and then turns back to eddy with a determined look. "can i talk to you?"

"uh, mister yang, was it?" amanda looks half-apologetic, half-impatient as she fully looks over at brett. "i was talking to eddy first, so can you please wait a little while—"

and _nope_ , he's going to have to stop her there. "sorry, amanda, it's probably important." of course brett's more damned important. not that eddy's saying that out loud, though. he's _trying_ to be more civilized nowadays, so. "maybe some other time?"

she looks put out at being passed over for someone else, but nonetheless, she recovers quickly, smiling cheerfully as she pats eddy's shoulder. "that's alright. some other time, you said! that's all i need to know." amanda nods at brett and then waves to eddy. "see you around," she says as a parting shot, and then disappears.

 _thank god._ he'd dodged a bullet back there. eddy blinks once, twice, before he stands to his feet and walks towards brett. already, the world looks brighter in his presence. it's a cheesy thought, but eddy can't find it in himself to care. "emperor yang, you need anything?"

brett's face is unreadable, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. eddy's eyebrows furrow, worry crawling up his spine as he moves closer to the other man. "is something wrong?"

brett is quiet for a few moments, and then: "hey, uh, if you don't—if you aren't comfortable with this, just let me know _immediately_ , okay?"

"uh, sure, of course." eddy's _so_ confused. "why?"

brett visibly takes a deep breath. "would you—wanna go out?"

eddy holds his breath, looks at brett like he's somehow grown two heads over the course of their conversation. when the shorter man doesn't immediately explain, he forces himself to open his own mouth. "you mean," he hesitates, "like as friends, or—?" he doesn't dare continue that question. _god_ , brett's so wrong about him; is he being a coward, or what?

"yes—i mean, we _are_ —but what i mean is," and here brett sighs, burying his face in his hands. "date. i mean on a _date_."

"a date?"

"with _me_."

"oh," says eddy, intelligently. _very_ much like a scholar.

"yeah," says brett, sounding as if he'd like to sink into the ground and never come back out.

it takes a few moments of wild, soundless screaming in eddy's mental space before he can even think to reply. he puts on his brightest smile and prays to any deity who will listen that he won't mess this one up. "you don't get to sound so miserable, hey?" eddy reaches across the slim distance between them, takes brett's hand in his own. "any date i'm involved in will be _excellent_. i assure you, whoever gets to take me out is blessed."

his ploy works: brett's mouth curves upward, relief etched across the lines of his face. "yeah, right. who'd even want to go on a date with that ugly mug of yours?"

"you wound me," eddy pouts, a hand on his chest, "but if your majesty wishes it, then i shall happily go on a date with the emperor."

brett gapes at him for a second, and then the loveliest smile eddy's ever seen in his life appears on the other man's face. his heart shudders in his chest at the sight; he's so mesmerized by it that when brett rattles off the details of their date—a car, a cafe, a carnival—all eddy can do is nod wordlessly, struck dumb for once.

maybe he'll go learn salut d'amour and surprise brett with it. maybe that'll make the other violinist smile. eddy damn sure hopes it will—anything to see that brilliant smile again.


	32. chapter twenty eight

"so? when are you going to thank me?"

brett should probably not be praying for the earth to swallow him whole on this fine, blessed day, but he is. with the way cynthia's propped up against her sedan, smirking gleefully at his dark button-up and dress shoes, he feels all too much like a child waving his mother goodbye on his first day of school. _god_ , this is so embarrassing.

"thanks for lending me your ride, cynthia," he manages to speak out, because he really _does_ owe her a lot, and not just because she's letting him borrow her car for his date. if it hadn't been for her meddling, brett thinks he'll probably be moping around in his apartment right now rather than standing here, waiting to take eddy chen out for the day. it turns out that all it takes for brett to open his mouth is to push him straight into the fire, and so cynthia had done so.

he'd almost chickened out, when the girl— _amara? anida? something with an a?_ —had glared at him, where eddy couldn't see. but then the man himself had chosen _brett_ immediately, and—well. brett might be an idiot, but he's not idiot enough to let this opportunity pass him by.

and so here he is, meeting the love of his life in like twenty minutes, and _no,_ that thought isn't relaxing at all.

"that's not what i was referring to, but i'll accept it." the blonde laughs, flicks her sunglasses back over her eyes as she hands over the car keys. "go get 'im, tiger."

"i'll try my best," he tells her, and cynthia gives him a thumbs up before she leaves. brett slides into the driver's seat, leans against the wheel for a moment to calm his frazzled nerves, and then he goes.

the drive to eddy's place takes him to an upscale neighborhood, and really, he can't help himself when he stares too long at his surroundings: a far cry from the run-down streets of brett's side of the city. he arrives at the listed address—and his jaw drops to the floor of the sedan.

eddy perches against the iron railings of the front steps to his apartment, dressed in a suit just like the one he'd worn when they had auditioned for the orchestra way back then, and _damn,_ but he's absolutely gorgeous, and brett doesn't feel an inkling of guilt about thinking _that_ now.

he parks by the sidewalk, rolling down the window as eddy approaches him. "hey," brett says, and then stops himself before any of the mental screaming comes out of his brain and through his mouth.

"hey yourself." the taller man opens the car door, takes the passenger seat with a sunny smile on his face. it's a little bit like looking at the sun, _damn him_. "you look dashing, your majesty."

 _god_ , brett can feel his cheeks warming already. time to deflect before he can embarrass himself. "sure, if you count the messy, rolled-out-of-bed look as _dashing_."

eddy raises an eyebrow at him. "well, now, that's even better. you're making things easier for my imagination."

and _no_ , that line had been delivered _way_ too smoothly. brett peers at him in mock suspicion. "who are you and what have you done with eddy chen?"

"hey, don't you know?" the grin on eddy's lips grows sharper, mischievous. "i'm eddy chen two-point-oh. some guy named brett yang fixed me up and made me better. you should meet him; he's amazing."

this back-and-forth they're doing isn't healthy for brett's heart—eddy chen's confidence is _illegal_ and must be apprehended—and so he turns away, rolling his eyes to mask the bubbly sensation churning in his gut. "unbelievable," he pretends to complain, slotting the car key and twisting it—

—but then the car doesn't start.

" _goddamn_ ," brett mumbles under his breath, fiddling with the car keys again. still _no bueno_. anxiety trickles into his mind, reminding him that he's only borrowing this car, he's only had it for half an hour, and he's already managed to screw things up, his plans for the day beginning to crumbling down like sandcastles. _god_ , if cynthia finds out—

he's _this_ close to losing it when eddy quietly reaches out, nudges his arm with a gentle touch. "hey, don't worry about it. we can walk, yeah?" and okay, eddy has a point, of course.

"yeah." _deep breaths, brett, deep breaths._ he hasn't screwed up anything yet. "sorry," he adds a second later, but eddy shushes him.

"you shouldn't be apologizing; it's the car's fault." eddy's face turns thoughtful for a second, then his eyes narrow. "i bet it's cynthia's, isn't it?"

brett very carefully says nothing. no way he's letting eddy know anything about _that_ this early on.

• • •

they reach the cafe with flushed cheeks and bright grins. it's still blazing hot under the afternoon sun, but present company makes up for every sweating moment spent walking to their destination. brett's arranged for them to dine by the corner, next to the window, and without further ado, they're seated with plates filled to the brim. date or not, brett always enjoys eating out with eddy; there's something about the act of sharing a meal with someone you care about that warms the space between his ribs.

he isn't really enjoying himself right now, however, even though he wants to.

there's a fair number of things niggling at the back of brett's mind, ever present even as eddy rattles on and on about anything and everything under the sun, laugh contagious and smile breathtaking. maybe it's the way the girls giggle and swoon every time eddy grins. maybe it's the way their waiter— _david_ , he had introduced himself, eyes glued to eddy's throat as he chugs down a glass of water, and honestly? brett can relate—hovers around their table like a vulture circling a dying carcass, looking for any opportunity to jump in and interact with the radiant man currently sitting across from him. with all these factors combined, brett's sure: he's most definitely _not_ enjoying this part of the date.

"what's wrong?" he snaps out of his thoughts, gaze flying back to eddy's concerned expression. "you're frowning."

"ah—sorry, i was just," he sighs, gives in to the urge to speak his mind. he might as well tell the other man the truth. "people are staring at you."

eddy's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "huh? so—why? is there something on my face?"

"no, it's just," brett pauses, and as if on cue, a faint, dreamy sigh drifts out from somewhere else in the room. eddy's gaze doesn't move a single inch from where it's locked onto his own, still expecting an answer. "y'know. admiring looks, which is cool and all," brett flaps a hand half-heartedly in the air, and then immediately adds, "and the waiter is trying to flirt with you."

at that, eddy stills, eyes widening. "really?" he considers this for a moment, and then shrugs as he twirls pasta around his fork. "i hadn't noticed. doesn't matter, anyway; _we're_ the ones on a date, remember?"

"i guess," brett says morosely; he doesn't know why he can't just _drop it_. he remembers the ghosts of past dates, the feeling of being treated like wallpaper, like he isn't _that_ interesting enough to hold _anyone's_ attention, _so why bother having a relationship, brett?_

the dark clouds loom on the horizon. brett feels cold. but then—

"hey—hey, look at me," eddy puts down his utensils and reaches out across the table, taking brett's hands in his own. "the only person i want looking at me is you. your eyes are the only pair of eyes i care about in this whole damn cafe." just the words brett had been craving to hear; the relief is startling but ultimately a comfort.

but _god_ , eddy doesn't have to say it _like that_. brett's pretty sure his face is fire-truck red at this point.

but as always, as expected: eddy is relentless with his words. "and i'm kinda one jealous guy, so if you're looking at _anyone_ else other than me, then maybe i'm doing something wrong here."

brett can't help it—he ducks his head, unable to meet eddy's gaze. "sorry."

"brett." at the mention of his name, punctuated with the tightening of eddy's grip on his hand, he looks back at the other man again. "it's fine. don't worry about it. if they're making you uncomfortable, we can just skip dessert and go, okay?"

 _oh god, no, wait._ "but—"

"no buts." eddy's thumb sweeps over his knuckles over and over again: comforting, reassuring. "i'm here for you, okay? this is _our_ date. it's not all about me, here." silence, and then a wistful chuckle. "not anymore."

and to be honest, that's just— _entirely unfair._

"you keep this up and i might just fall for you," brett tells him, voice thankfully steady and firm as he delivers this joke that isn't quite a joke, not really, not for him. eddy pauses, gaze flickering as he absorbs those words, and then he smiles, knowing and achingly sweet.

"what else did you think i was aiming for?"


	33. chapter twenty nine

contrary to his outward facade, the confidence outlined through every action, every glance, every word—deep down, eddy's simply _terrified_.

he's trying, he really is. normally, his calm and collected ice prince persona would suffice against whatever circumstances thrown his way, but when he's here, in a scenario where every single thing _matters_ when it comes to what brett thinks of him, eddy's frighteningly out of his depth. sentiment has stripped all his masks away, rendering him helpless against the onslaught. he's tried his best to hide his shaking hands, sweat pooling at the back of his neck, but he's not quite sure his anxiety has escaped the shorter man's notice.

but when it all comes down to it, in the end, honesty is what carries him through. eddy hadn't even spared a thought about the chattering girls or the admiring looks or even the starry-eyed waiter assigned to their table. when he tells brett that _his_ attention is all that matters to eddy, he means it. thank god the other man believes him.

he'll do anything to make him believe it.

and so they leave the cafe an hour earlier than planned, but that fact pales in comparison to the way brett's shoulders relax, the way his smile shines all the brighter. _god_ , eddy can get addicted to that smile, he really could; he's so enamoured with it that he almost doesn't catch the green stubs brett flings in his direction. "what's this?"

"tickets," brett tells him, eyes fixed on the road as he drives. "we're going to the carnival, remember?"

sure enough, as they wind along the road leading out to the harbor, the massive ring of the ferris wheel spirals up into view above the urban skyline. eddy's never been to the carnival before, so he supposes this is a special occasion, and who better to share it with?

• • •

it turns out that maybe they didn't have to stop by the cafe after all.

"i'm probably gonna explode," eddy complains, patting his stomach as brett laughs and laughs, an ice cream cone precariously teetering in his hand.

"yeah, not everyone can consume ice cream the same way." the shorter man shrugs, licks up the melting ice cream along the sides of the cone— _he's really doing that_ , eddy's mind screams, _right in front of me, oh my god_ —before it can drip onto his skin. "but hey, maybe we'll make a confectionary master of you yet someday."

"yes, master, please teach me," eddy deadpans, sending brett into even more peals of laughter, and _damn_ , he really _can_ get addicted to this.

they make their way through the crowded paths between the various colorful stalls, dodging wayward limbs and running children as they take in the sights and scenery. eddy wants more than anything to reach out and take brett's hand, but it doesn't seem— _right_ , somehow. it would feel different from all the other times they've jokingly held hands out in public like back in the diner, and it's not just to offer comfort, like he's done in the cafe earlier; it would mean _more_.

_or maybe you're just being a wuss. where's your confidence now, huh?_

eddy's about to smack himself in the face when brett calls out to him from where he's standing next to a shooting gallery. "watch this, i'll win a hat for you."

"really?" eddy grins, moving closer to inspect the stall. rows of tiny ceramic ducks line the wall at a distance from where the player is supposed to shoot at them, and _whoa_ , that's a real shotgun in brett's hand _._ he eyes it warily. "uh, are you sure?"

and _god_ , the confident curve to brett's smirk will be the death of him, eddy thinks. that is absolutely an illegal item to whip out in public, even moreso than a gun. "you doubt me?" and _of course_ , he's going to say yes to that. what other choice does he have? "then just sit back and watch the show," brett salutes him, then turns around and—

eddy probably shouldn't find the image of a gun-wielding brett _tantalizing_ , but: _oh my god._ but also: _get ahold of yourself, eddy chen!_

in the end, brett manages to hit all his targets without a single shot wasted, claiming a winnie the pooh hat as his prize before he waltzes on back to where eddy's standing. "i—i didn't know you're as good with a gun as you are with the violin," eddy murmurs in awe, voice still shaken, but he does clap as brett raises his arms with flourish, sweeping down in a formal bow: a more extravagant version of the way he bows whenever he finishes brahms. the thought warms something in his chest. "where did you learn how to do that?"

brett is silent for a while, expression unreadable, and then he smiles. "a story for another time," he says, and yes, okay, eddy can understand _that_. "now come closer so i can put this on you, dummy."

"yeah, okay," eddy chuckles, then bends a little for brett to reach his head and stuff the hat onto it. when the shorter man looks satisfied with his work, eddy draws back to his full height and opens his arms wide as if for inspection. "so? how do i look?"

there's a twinkle in brett's eyes as his gaze travels up and down eddy's body, and _no no no,_ he's _not_ going to blush that easily. "you look good," brett finally declares, and _god_ , maybe he _is_ going to blush after all. damn it. "let's go over to the—"

suddenly, the greying sky—when had it grown dark? eddy hadn't even noticed—sparks up with flashes of light, the clouds groaning in the far distance as the faintest drops of rain begin pouring down from the heavens. he watches as the smile literally melts off brett's mouth with every passing second, and really—eddy understands that this must have upset brett's plan for the rest of their stay at the carnival, but even violinist prodigies can't control the weather.

"come on, let's get outta the rain," he tells brett, gently taking his arm and pulling him away from he's rooted to the ground. "let's head over to the ferris wheel so we can at least entertain ourselves while we wait for the rain to stop."

brett nods, his lips curling up again. eddy thinks it's a good plan.

• • •

_this_ , eddy thinks with no small hint of desperation, _was a terrible plan._

the good news: they're out of the rain for now. the bad news: they're both soaking wet. no matter how fast they've run through the fairgrounds, the water drops have still managed to catch up with them. once they've jumped into one of the ferris wheel's passenger cars, they've both taken off their coats and left them on the floor.

"i'm so tired," brett moans, leaning his head back against the headrest: an innocent action that should not in any way ruin eddy's peace of mind, _but_.

the sight of him so undone makes something in eddy's gut clench.

he watches as water drips down the length of brett's cheekbones, his jaw, racing down his neck and disappearing into the fabric clinging to his body like a second skin. he becomes all too aware of the tiny space between them, the heat of the enclosed passenger car mingling with the cold hand of the rain still caressing their skin. eddy shivers, but it's not just because of the temperature.

brett turns his head in his direction, so close now that eddy can see that unique fleck against the white of his left eye, and _god above_ , but he watches as those eyes dilate at the sight of him, _oh god._

there are raindrops caught in his eyelashes.

brett breathes his name questioningly, almost inaudible, almost only a whisper of air, but a caress softer than silk. that's a sound eddy wants to hear for the rest of his life. the shorter man draws nearer as if hypnotized, and their fingers brush, electrifying.

maybe, if he moves closer, just a tiny bit, just an inch, he could—he could—

eddy pulls away abruptly, sliding across the bench to the farthest end away, his breath rattling ragged against the walls of his ribs as he watches brett's eyes grow wide and startled. "sorry," eddy mumbles, low enough that he isn't sure brett could even hear it, but then the other man stiffens, face paling, and he knows the apology has been received.

"sorry," brett echoes, his voice hollow, his gaze unseeing.

"it's not," eddy begins, his voice ruined, his gaze clouded, "it's—it's not you. just—not—not now."

brett nods woodenly. both think they've made a wretched mistake.

(the rain pours and pours and pours, and nothing is certain anymore.)


	34. chapter thirty

_what did i do wrong?_

thirty two hours, sixteen minutes, twelve seconds. brett can't help himself; he keeps track of the time without really intending to, so he can brandish the habit like a sword to ward off any other thoughts from filtering in through the cracks of his soul. he doesn't know how else to keep himself occupied, alone in the darkened bedroom of his apartment, and so he counts.

brett is no stranger to rejection, explicit or implicit; this is something that's already happened before with past partners. it's why he's alone now. but it's just—he had been _so_ sure, back at the ferris wheel. he had been _so_ sure they would've kissed. but then: he had moved forward, and eddy had shrunk back. he had offered himself so freely, and eddy—eddy had—well, he'd done nothing. brett doesn't know if that means anything, but it sure does mean a great deal to _him_.

_maybe this was all a mistake._

faintly, as if from a great distance away, his doorbell chimes. brett tightens his grasp on the bedcovers, wraps himself up further inside the sheets as he ignores whoever is on the other side of the entryway. perhaps it's rude, but at this point, with his heart aching and bruised, he can be excused when it comes to avoiding people for a day or two. if he tries to face anyone right now, he'll probably chew them out, friendships be damned.

but then the doorbell keeps ringing. again and again and again and—

"oh my _god_ ," brett hisses under his breath, staggering out of the blanket cocoon and tumbling out of his room. heartbroken or not, he supposes he has to look presentable, so he runs his hands through his dishevelled hair, tugging on an oversized coat over his pajamas as he walks to the door. "cynthia, if it's you, i swear i'll—"

it's not cynthia.

eddy chen stands at the threshold to his home looking out of place in a suit, shaking and panting like he's run a whole marathon around the block before showing up on brett's welcome-home rug. his violin case lies abandoned on the floor next to a half-crushed bouquet of daisies, his beloved instrument is held in trembling hands, and brett—doesn't quite know where to look or what to think.

"what," brett begins, but then the word comes out like a dying frog's croak, so he coughs and continues more steadily, "what are you doing here?"

he's about to say more, but then, well. eddy's looking at him like he's never seen him before, like he's the beginning and end of every symphony and every melody, like he means _everything_ , and despite the hurt and the pain of the perceived rejection, brett's heart stutters in his chest.

"what," is all that gets to tumble out of his lips again before eddy raises his bow and begins to play. with that first drawn-out note, brett recognizes the piece immediately, and _god_ , but his knees buckle at the realization. he has no choice but to cling to the door frame with shaky fingers, helpless against the sight of eddy chen serenading him with salut d'amour in the middle of the hallway, unashamed and passionate. there's no trace of the ice prince in the way he moves, eyes closed and limbs swaying as he moves through the melody like he's born to do so. little by little, the grief in brett's chest withers away, replaced with disbelief and a wild, unrelenting sense of _hope_.

the last high note echoes against the walls, and for a moment, there is frozen silence between them, hesitation suddenly making its way into the space. brett doesn't realize he's held his breath since the last bar of the piece, and so when the urgent need to let out air comes, it leaves his lips loudly and shakily. at the sound, eddy blinks once, twice, and then speaks.

"i—i just wanted to come over and let you know that whatever you think i think about you, it's wrong." eddy looks to the ground, as if unwilling to meet brett's eyes. "and—and if the piece doesn't convince you, then i hope my words will." he takes a deep breath, and then he raises his gaze, firm and unwavering. "because i think i'm in love with you, brett yang. i'm terrified as hell, and you probably hate me because of the ferris wheel, but i love you, and i—"

god help him, but after all of _that_ , brett won't be able to stop himself from kissing eddy chen for much longer, so he doesn't even try to. he jolts forward, takes eddy's face between his palms, pulls him down, and their lips meet. the kiss is a little sloppy because the angle's all wrong, and eddy's arms are bracketed tightly around his own in an awkward way because he's still holding his violin, but it's _perfect_. it's got to be the best damn kiss brett's ever had in his whole life.

"i had a whole speech and everything," eddy mumbles, but the words are lost in the spaces between their mouths.

"shut _up_ , eddy."

"no, no—i am _not_ getting distracted by you again." eddy pulls away, and a strangled whimper wrenches itself from brett's throat. the taller man doesn't move any further back, opting instead to rest their foreheads together. "you need to hear this from me first."

brett doesn't think he needs to hear anything else aside from the precious words eddy had just given him, but he nods wordlessly.

"back at the ferris wheel, i," eddy's eyelashes flicker, then he continues, "i did want to kiss you. you wouldn't believe how much i did. but something came to me then, and i realized—i wasn't worthy of you." brett opens his mouth to retort, but eddy shushes him. "no, don't argue with me; it's true. i've dragged so much drama into your life, screwed up a lot of things, and even if you think i'm _amazing_ and everything else you said on opening night, i still don't feel like i'm good enough, not yet. i wanted to _become_ worthy of you first."

eddy closes his eyes for a moment, silence as he picks his next words. "but then i realized that you might've taken it the wrong way, what i did, and i—i didn't want you to think anything less than the truth. i'm not good enough of a person yet, but i'm trying my hardest because—because i love you. you make me want to become the best version of me there is. i'm a little scared of asking to be more than friends with you because i know i'm definitely going to mess things up, but. i still want to try. with you. if you'll have me."

the words hang in the air for a few moments, and then brett shrugs. it would've seemed more casual if not for the wetness in his eyes. "so is that all, or am i going to have to shut you up again so i can kiss you?"

eddy bursts into startled laughter, shaking his head. "you're unbelievable, brett yang." the look in his eyes is nothing short of adoring, and brett's heart wobbles at the sight of it. "i wouldn't have you be anything else but that."

brett's about two seconds away from spontaneously combusting, but he has to respond to that outpouring of honesty with a little of his own. "look," he begins, grasping eddy's arm tighter, "i'm a little scared too. i don't have the best track record when it comes to loving people, because i've always been alone. i've learned that people aren't—they aren't always kind, or thoughtful, or good." a smile threatens to appear on his lips, and he allows it as he looks up at eddy. "but then you came along like—like a light in the darkness, and i wouldn't give up meeting you for anything else in the world." eddy bites his lip, obviously trying to hold himself together, and brett laughs softly. "you're amazing. you'll always be amazing to me, and i love you. so. let's try this thing out together?"

"yeah." eddy nods, looking like he doesn't believe what he's hearing, but he'll damn well take it anyway. "yeah, let's."

brett takes the violin and the bow from eddy's hands, places them inside the violin case, and then turns back to eddy with his arms outstretched. " _there_. no more obstacles, no more distractions. now, you are going to kiss me properly right now, or i'm never taking you on another date ever again."

"god, you're bossy," eddy complains, but his smile rivals the sun in its brightness, so brett doesn't reply. but then again, he's too busy laughing into their kisses, so really, brett can't be blamed—he's a little distracted, after all.


	35. epilogue

someday, the concert season that has brought them together will end, but of course, the story won't stop there.

someday, the orchestra director will look upon those two young men he's taken under his wing, and he will offer them permanent spots in the orchestra. they will agree to it, because the people there have become like family, and they owe it all to the director for such a chance to perform together in the first place.

someday, cynthia will stop teasing them about how long it had taken them to see the light, but not before she stops crowing about how she's paved the way for them to be together. it's true to some degree, so they will not try to argue otherwise.

someday, various people will thank both of them separately for finally having the courage to confess to each other, because they're so tired of watching the two of them dance around each other for so long. they will blush and they will stutter, but they will ultimately smile and nod. it's taken them some time, but— _at long last._

someday, eddy chen will move overseas to pursue further studies in music. someday, brett yang will follow him—wherever he goes, because they're strong apart, but they're stronger together, and they'll never want to leave each other alone. they will both go on to gain acclaim as soloists and esteemed musicians, but they will stay humble, because that is what the other person would want, and they are trying their best to become better for each other.

someday, a letter penned in elizabeth chen's hand will make its way to brett yang's doorstep, something very close to acceptance written out in elegant script. someday, brett yang will cry on eddy chen's shoulder over the mother he has lost, and the mother who is on her way to considering him worthy of her son. they will sit together watching the sunset, and they will learn how to comfort each other best.

someday, there will be fights and there will be tears, because they aren't perfect people, and they know each other too well so they'll know how to hurt each other if they want to. but always, always—there will be forgiveness. there will be promises to right their wrongs, promises to grow better. they're both a work in progress, but they are _doing_ this, the two of them against the ever-changing world. they will want it no other way.

someday, the story will end at a familiar bus stop. the day will be hot, the sun will be burning, and two violinists will meet each other under the shade again. someday, the words _will you marry me, please_ will be spoken aloud, nervous but sure. someday, the words _yes, of course, there's no other answer for me_ will be given in response, trembling but jubilant.

someday, they will always be happy. someday, they will always be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! <3 if you enjoy my words, please do check out my other works for more of _those!_ ^_^


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